To the anon who questioned Lea's habit of calling Jon "daddy":
"Literally, our friends call us mom and dad. Sometimes I'm on the phone with Jonathan and I'm like: 'Dad, I miss you so much. I can't wait that you're going to come over tonight and sleep in bed with me, and I can hold you all night long.' The people that are next to me look at me all weird." [New York Times Interview by David Itzkoff titled: Those You've Known: Lea Michele and Jonathan Groff Reunite on 'Glee']
"I was thinking we could make dinner and then maybe settle down and watch a movie? I got the BBC version of Casanova on Netflix the other day, if you wanted," she mutters, looking through her movie shelf. "I've heard some pretty good things about it."
"Sure thing, babe."
Stephen is, and will likely always be, an agreeable sort of person. It's not actually about getting what he wants- Jon's theory- and maybe it's not even about not really listening- her mother's theory- but more often than not, she picks what they're going to be doing.
And it isn't that Jon isn't agreeable when it comes to her suggestions for places to go eat, movies to watch, music to listen to and sing along with- it's just that they tend to agree in the first place, and take turns making the decisions.
But she knows that Stephen, on his part, his own movie collection littered with blockbuster names like Die Hard and Die Hard 2, would much rather watch an action movie than the Tony Awards even on the best of days, not that he would ever tell her that when she goes on to suggest that they should perhaps watch the most recent rendition of Rent.
"I was talking to Jon the other night," she continues as she takes a frozen pizza out of the freezer, unwrapping it from its plastic cover. "He and Karl want a baby." The last part is almost whispered, her throat feeling tight. She has to keep reminding herself to whom the life that's potentially growing in her belly belongs, since it really isn't her. Even if it's part of her, and part of Jon, and she can't think of anything that she could possibly love more, it isn't hers to keep. It might be hers to visit, hers to love when time and circumstance allows, but otherwise, there will always be a limit to the feeling of completion and family and being loved completely, unequivocally, without a single doubt.
Exactly like it is with Jon.
"It's going to be kind of hard for them, reproductive parts and all," he mutters with a smarmy, crooked grin as his arm wraps about her waist.
Stephen doesn't like Jon, and the feeling is mutual. It's a territorial sort of problem, and the fact that Jon refuses to call him anything but Steve.
"They asked me to be the surrogate."
"And you said no."
Pizza in the oven- Stephen isn't big on cooking together- she hops onto the counter. "I said yes."
"Figures." He sighs, systematically cracking one knuckle after the other, first on the left hand, then the right. It drives her insane.
She's downright grateful for the interruption that her phone causes, buzzing in her back pocket.
Never thought I'd say this, but I miss LA.
"Who is it?"
"It's my mom," she lies quickly, trying hard to hide the smile on her face as she types back, No, you miss ME.
"Liar." It rolls too easily off his tongue, as though he were talking about the toast he might have eaten this morning, as if he really doesn't care that she's lying. She's not sure what bothers her more- the fact that he knows, or the fact that he couldn't give less of a rat's ass about it. "You never look like that when you're texting your mom."
He gets out a bottle of wine for the two of them, presumably to go with the pizza, and pours them both a glass, Lea accepting somewhat reluctantly, as if she doesn't deserve such a romantic gesture, even despite knowing that she won't be drinking, trying to get pregnant and all. It's from a wine tasting he took her to for their birthday, which doesn't really help matters at all, even if it isn't her favorite, a bottle that was easily double the price of the one they're drinking now. Her phone buzzes again, immediately demanding her attention, serving as a brilliant reminder as to why she doesn't deserve the wine in her hand or the boyfriend in her kitchen.
You're right. I do.
Her face falls; can't help but, and he offers another sigh after a long sip.
"You slept with him."
"What?"
She stares up at him in shock, eyes wide fighting to keep the glass in her hand as trembling hands work slowly return it to the counter. She's already given herself away, and she knows it, waiting for his reaction with baited breath.
"You heard me."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Spread-eagled on her bed as Jon mercilessly pounds into her, a slew of lewd litanies tumbling from his lips as though worshiping her body as his hands palm at one breast.
"I think you do."
On the counter, her knuckles turning white as they grip desperately onto the edge of the tile, the edge digging into her ass as pliant fingers grip her hips for leverage, groans that sound suspiciously like her name following every thrust into her.
"This is none of your business," she snaps hotly, face flushing warm as she jumps off of the counter, arms folding defensively in front of her chest to match him.
"I'm right, aren't I? You're damn sure that it's my business who you're sleeping with! Last time I checked, we were in a relationship."
"It's Jonathan!" Because, really, that excuses it. If it were anyone else, she would understand him, but it's Jon.
"That doesn't excuse anything when you know as well as I do that you moon over him more than anyone else. If he wasn't gay-"
She cuts him off in the middle of his wild gesturing to interrupt. "But he is!"
"Clearly that doesn't keep him from sticking his dick in my girlfriend!"
He's never been good at subtlety, but this is particularly scathing, and she has to physically restrain herself from yelling something regrettable, instead focusing on the good things, not yet reduced to calling him names.
"Jon doesn't count! He's- he's different!"
"Why, because you're in love with him?"
"No!"
It's scathing enough that it catches her attention, and she glares at him as she whirls around, the timer on the pizza going off. Neither of them seem to care.
"You act like you are," he snaps, jaw set as he stares at her accusingly.
"You can go."
Maybe she does. That doesn't mean she's in love with him. He's her best friend- she doesn't even have the rightto be in love with him, even if she is.
"Do you want to keep it?"
It's another accusation- because Stephen doesn't ask questions, not really, he just assumes he's right- that comes so out of left field and is so glaringly accurate that she wants to hit him.
"What?"
"His baby," he says quietly, one hand gripping onto the edge of the counter. "You want to keep it, don't you?"
She wants to tell him that it's her baby, too, that this precious little thing is growing inside of her, and not Karl, but she doesn't, suddenly feeling all the steam leave her at once as he stares at her, one eyebrow raised, hands folded in front of his chest
"I thought I told you to leave!"
"So it's true, then. You want the two of you to raise that kid with your faggy boyfriend-"
Her hand shoots out to hit before she can stop herself, one of her vases promptly falling off the counter and shattering into pieces as it hits the floor, the flowers Stephen got her last week suddenly everywhere.
Stephen catches her by the wrist before she can make impact, his face hard.
"Easy there, Lea."
"You have no right to call him that." Her voice is trembling, and she's not sure if it's because her whole body is, or if she's too angry, too upset to verbalize anything properly, hot, livid tears streaming down her cheeks as she glares at him.
"Fine," he grinds out as she wretches her wrist out of his grip, promptly making a beeline for the door, slamming it as he storms out.
The only problem with all of this is that she hardly knows what to do with herself without Jon. Normal circumstances would have her calling him instantly, but this isn't something she can talk to him about, isn't something that she should talk to him about, tears spilling out onto the counter before she can stop herself.
It's a solid two weeks until she hears the message on her answering machine, telling her that he has reservations for the two of them for that night at Cicada. She has half the mind to tell him to shove his reservation elsewhere, but by eight p.m., she's already on her way.
"A cosmopolitan for the lady, and a scotch on the rocks for myself, thanks."
Stephen has always had the bad habit of ordering for her, occasionally forgetting that she doesn't eat cheese- anymore- but this is especially irritating.
He's here to apologize- or at least, so she assumes- and already of that he's doing a poor job.
"I'm not going to be able to drink that, you know."
"Are you pregnant yet?"
He sounds as bitter and scathing about it as ever, and she's tempted to just leave and give up on this, give up on them. But one thought back to Jon, who has Karl, with whom he's happy, and suddenly, she's not so sure if she just wants to give up.
"I don't know. I might be."
"Then just take your chances." Stephen is certainly taking his. "It's not like it can hurt all that horribly in the beginning, right? Think about all the chicks that find out in the third month or so. Their babies don't come out deformed just because they didn't expect it."
The waitress' arrival with their drinks is suddenly very much a deus ex machina sort of entrance. Without her, Stephen could have never dug himself out of his proverbial grave, and suddenly, the tension in the air lifts somewhat as Lea glances over the menu.
"Did you think about what you might want to order?"
"I think I'll have the Grilled Dover Sole," she mutters before he can speak for her, and promptly noting the way Stephen's lips purse at her words, knowing fully how expensive the dish she's chosen is, and not particularly caring for once.
She knows this relationship isn't going the distance. She just didn't expect it to be over so soon.
He orders something half the price, also a familiar tactic, and Lea wonders why she bothers anymore when she'd rather be sitting here with Jon, when she'd rather be sitting anywhere else with Jon.
There's a lovely, vegan-friendly café just outside of Santa Monica where he's taken her before, the vegan muffins to die for and only $1.50 instead of the $40 entrees at Cicada. But Stephen has never been that kind of guy, just as much as he's not the kind of guy to wear baseball caps the wrong way, making Lea's stomach clench painfully as she tries to think about anything other than the drink in front of her, and the baby that's probably in her stomach by now, if her instincts are pointing her correctly.
On the other hand, she's completely terrified that she's wrong, as much heartache as this baby is going to cause her.
An hour later, she accepts Stephen's half-hearted apology, and they have sex, though it's perhaps even more half-hearted than his apology. Still, she can't bring herself to care- not over the fact that he didn't bother to go down on her, or that she only came once, and only when thinking about Jon, her hand furiously working herself to a peak as he thrust mindlessly in and out of her.
After he leaves again, Lea feels like she's cheated on Jonathan. It's ridiculous, of course, but she can't help it, can't stop the pang in her chest at the thought of how much he's missing her, and how she's failed him.
"Jon and I are trying to get pregnant."
"You're-" There's dead silence on the other end of the phone as Lea hears her dad's voice cutting in. "Tell him I'm buying him that house I promised!"
"Honey, that's- Lea, you're on speaker," her mother shamefully admits, and Lea has to fight the urge to bury her face in her hand.
"Mom- dad- it's not like that, I'm just the surrogate."
The nigh-jubilant silence from before is suddenly replaced with one far more tense and forced, and Lea has to fight back the urge to cry as she realizes how much she wishes it were the former, that maybe, just maybe, this was just about them and this baby they were having.
"Oh," her mother's voice finally comes through, a door closing in the background just before she's taken off speaker. "Well- are you? Pregnant, I mean."
"I don't know. I mean, I haven't tried a pregnancy test or gone to the doctor yet, because I'm kind of worried it'll be negative, but I did throw up this morning. Then again, that could just be nerves or the fact that I'm making myself sick over this whole mess, but-"
She starts crying before she can stop herself, a choked sob following shortly after now that she knows it's only her mother listening, and that her dad won't go to catch the subway down to Manhattan to commit murder.
"Oh, honey."
"I know it's my own fault for saying yes and getting so attached, but I just don't know what to do."
"Well, I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to come visit us for a couple of days, and everything will be all better. We'll make kugel together, I know it's your favorite-"
"I'll think about it," she nods against the phone, her heart clenching at the thought of even going home to New York and not seeing Jon.
"Well, let me know what you decide, and we'll see if maybe your dad can't take a couple of days off of work, too."
"Thanks, mama."
"Oh, and do let us know if there is a baby, so I can start shopping for the little thing, okay?"
"Of course I will, mama," she mutters softly as tears well up again in spite of her best efforts for them not to. This is exactly what she's been hoping to avoid- thoughts of Jon painting the baby's room a gender-neutral color, picking out a crib together, buying too many baby clothes- these are all things that she isn't allowed to do, isn't supposed to be doing, because it's not her baby, if there even is a baby.
For the past week, she's had two pregnancy tests in her medicine cabinet- both different brands, just in case one of them messes up. It's not that she hasn't skipped a period- she has- but the chances of something going wrong are always, always there, that maybe she's just really late, or that the stress of the past couple of weeks has caused her to skip it. Maybe it's a hysterical pregnancy, and she's not pregnant at all, and when the timer finally goes off, she's terrified to even look at the test in the first place, her stomach in her throat.
For a good three rings, he struggles to get his phone out of his pocket, beaming when he finally sees Lea's name lighting up his phone and promptly sliding the bar to the right to unlock the screen, still grinning.
"How's my favorite Broadway starlet doing? I was just thinking about you, baby."
For a second, all he can hear is breathing, and then, barely loud enough for him to hear- "Jon, I'm pregnant."
His whole world slows to a stop. For just a second, nothing and no one exists besides the two of them, and he hears himself- as though out of, separated from his body- let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, his eyes wide.
She might as well have told him that they're both pregnant, that their baby- their baby- who is now suddenly a real, living entity, an actual being, is going to be healthy, happy, and all theirs to keep.
With that thought, reality filters back in, and he realizes that that's not it, that she's telling him this, not because they're going to be parents, but because he needs to tell Karl. Karl, who's going to be a father with him. Sweet, wonderful, amazing, what-did-I-ever-do-to-deserve-him Karl.
"Lea," he breathes out in one long go, his eyes closing as he pictures her sitting on the edge of the toilet, clutching a pregnancy test in one hand, her cell phone in the other.
"It's- this is a good thing, right?"
He can hear her tear up, and almost instantly, he can't think about Karl anymore, Lea taking center stage in his universe as he gets up off the couch and starts pacing, running an errant hand through his hair.
"Of course it is. Why- why wouldn't it be?" He's almost afraid to ask her, sucking in his bottom lip to chew on it, hoping to cure his trepidation over this whole conversation.
"Because it's yours and Karl's."
It's only been six weeks since he was out the last time, but that doesn't stop him from instantly flipping up the screen of his laptop to find tickets to get to LA tomorrow, preferably early.
"I'll be there tomorrow, okay? I'm already getting the tickets. You set your doctor's appointment for in a couple of days and- and we'll go together. We'll get through this, baby. Just the two of us."
He can practically hear her nodding against the phone, and he wants nothing more than to bridge the gap between them right now, hold her, never let go, his chest aching horribly. He can't even imagine what this has to feel like for her, but if it's even remotely comparable to his own feelings, then he needs to be there. Not Karl, not Steve, just him.
It might be a bit underhanded, but he's almost glad that Karl has a big exam coming up tomorrow, big enough that he refused to reschedule it even for an awards show Jon was going to attend.
Now he's heading to LA instead, his stomach in knots even as he buys the tickets.
Jon is convinced that the only redeeming quality behind flying is the actual arrival, knowing he'll see Lea by the time it's over, and that for that alone, he'll endure all the coffee spills from the stewardess, all the bad movies he can't actually hear on the crappy airplane headphones, and all of the annoying passengers beside him.
The woman seated beside him is a good 65 years old and doesn't recognize him in the least, not that he's surprised. Whenever they're out, chances are that Lea is the one getting recognized, not him, even if he's had a stint on Glee, too, he doesn't get nearly as much exposure, and he wasn't seen singing in an HP ad on TV.
Not that he minds, really. It's nice, being able to blend into the background on occasion, even if he's come to really appreciate all the attention.
"Are you transferring in LA, dear?" the nice, elderly woman- whose name turns out to be Marla- asks him as he packs away his headphones, finding them to be a pointless endeavor. He looks up, smiles, and promptly shakes his head.
It turns out that her grandson has met a girl, and decided, at the ripe age of twenty-nine, to "finally"- her words, not his- settle down. The only downside is that her granddaughter-in-law-to-be is Japanese, and her side of the family insisted on a traditional wedding in their home country, despite her growing up in San Francisco almost her whole life.
It's all a terribly endearing story, of course, thinking that this woman- and the rest of the family- is willing to fly out to Japan for the wedding, though it does alert him to both the question of whether this means he's suddenly overdue for marriage as well, and the fact that he really ought to tell his parents that he's having a baby.
He's still grinning when the woman interrupts his thoughts to ask him what his business in LA is, and he laughs.
"My best friend- god, she's my everything. Anyway," he clears his throat, still smiling stupidly as he thinks about it, "she's having my baby. And we just found out yesterday, so of course I'm heading out to be there for her."
"It's so sweet when you kids refer to your significant others as your best friend. It's just adorable."
He's about to correct the woman, when he realizes that there's no point, not really. She looks like she's wearing a particularly enthusiastic table-cloth that goes up to her neck; there is no way for her to understand the circumstances, not completely.
With the fasten-seatbelt sign finally off, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and by the time he returns, she's already fast asleep. They did depart from JFK fairly early, Jon requesting another coffee from the stewardess as he forces himself to remember that it isn't Lea with whom he's having this baby, that his partner, his wonderful partner, is waiting for him to come back home with good news, still upset that he isn't able to go along, that Jon blatantly disregarded even the possibility of going tomorrow instead of today.
"You're letting me drive," he grins into her hair when she's finally back in his arms, knowing already the second the words leave his mouth, that she'll protest his cruel, misogynistic judgment of her, even if she knows as well as he does that she's a terrible driver.
"What? Where did this come from?"
"The way I figure," he smirks happily as he readjusts the bag on his shoulder with one hand and grabs her hand with the other, trying to make their way out of LAX without tripping over anyone or being attacked by the media as he's used to happening when he's around Lea, "you're not only my family, but now you're also carrying my family inside of you. I gotta protect the two of you, right?"
Loading them into her car, Lea first, bags later, he climbs into the driver's seat, glad to have taken over the drive when the sky opens up shortly after they get onto the highway.
"Did you already set an appointment with your gynecologist?"
"Yes," she mutters quietly, suddenly more preoccupied with the rain outside the window than with him, making him frown as he grabs her hand, slowing down to keep from hydroplaning, just grateful that the traffic isn't as bad as it could be around this time.
"What's wrong, baby?"
"What if I'm not? You know, pregnant."
The last bit of the sentence comes out so quietly that he almost doesn't hear her over the sound of the rain drumming against the windshield, and he seriously contemplates pulling over for a moment to talk to her about this seriously, where he can give her his full attention, but they're practically almost at her place anyway.
"Did you skip a period?"
"Well, yes."
"And the pregnancy test said positive, right?"
"They... both did, actually."
"And you said you've been throwing up when we talked about a week ago..."
"But-"
"I know, baby." He can't help the smile that spreads across his face as he squeezes her hand with one hand, bending the other at an awkward angle to speed up the windshield wipers as the rain comes down harder. "It'll be fine."
"Is it bad to already be this attached to something before you even know for sure that it's there?"
He lets the words sink in for a moment, then swallows, shaking his head. "No. Definitely not."
"While I was waiting for the pregnancy test to get done I started looking stuff up, you know. And it turns out that at about six weeks, it should be about the size of a chocolate sprinkle. And then I couldn't stop myself from looking at more information about our- I mean, um- the baby."
Our baby. It is their baby, really, all things considered, even if Karl and him are supposed to raise the little thing. Jon already worries that his heart will break every time he looks at it, seeing Lea written all over that beautiful little face.
But he's just about as attached to it as Lea is at this point, Karl seemingly much calmer about the whole process. It actually kind of pisses him off, him not freaking out nearly as much as Jon is, and Lea is a welcome refuge for his nerves, just as bad as him.
He's not sure what to say. He wants to put his hand on her abdomen, wants to tell her that she's going to make the most amazing mommy to the little boy or girl in there, and that she needs to stop worrying.
Except she won't be, and he can't. These are the things he should be telling to Karl, but she's his best friend, having his baby. What is he supposed to say? What can anyone possibly say to make this all right?
He realizes that he's been silent for a while when she speaks again, jolting him out of his anxieties. "Stephen wasn't thrilled, you know."
The anger is instantaneous. "Steve can shove a dick up his-"
"He knows we had sex, Jon."
"Is it that obvious?"
Of course it is. He knows it is, and he's fairly certain that Lea does, too. He's just lucky that Karl likes to see the best in people, painfully naïve and gullible at times if only to keep the positive atmosphere in a room, though sometimes it does make Jon wonder whether it's just to keep things peaceful, or whether he legitimately believes these things, convincing himself that he's right.
"He's just- he's paranoid, so he guessed correctly. That's it." There's a heavy pause that seems to stretch forever as they stand at a red light, the rain still not letting up. "Does Karl know?"
"Hell no."
"Were you planning on telling him?"
"Not... really."
"Oh."
She sounds downright disappointed, and he's not sure why. A part of him gets it, but at the same time, he's not exactly the sort of person who should be touting off publicly that he regularly has sex with his best friend. Not only would it be bad press for Lea, who is generally seen as a relative goody-goody in the media- doesn't cheat, doesn't do drugs, doesn't show off her vagina to the rest of the world- but he's out and proud, a veritable beacon of attention for LGBT-centered media coverage and hot button gay rights issues.
It would be a disaster if anyone found out that they're sleeping together on top of how cutesy they tend to be in public, how openly affectionate. The hand-holding, the mock-kisses, the fake engagement ring Lea posted on her twitter (even if the diamond was real, and he felt his heart hammering in his chest even as he was picking it, hoping he wasn't horribly misjudging her taste in jewelry).
Not that he'd ever give those things up with her. But coming out first as gay, and then not only as sleeping with a woman on a regular basis, but also as cheating on his partner because Karl found himself bitter and disillusioned- even if he could never see Karl doing such a thing to him- would be devastating.
And what's more, a part of him feels rather as though he's cheating on Lea, too, as silly as it sounds.
"Lea, I can't exactly-"
"I know," she interjects, sounding entirely too reasonable and entirely too much like she's spent the last several nights up and thinking about this for too long. "Stephen and I actually got into a big fight about it," she finally mutters, as eager to change the subject as he is, apparently.
"Did you... break up?" He can't help the slightly hopeful edge that sneaks into his voice, even when he knows that it's not supposed to be there, that he's with Karl and therefore has no right to tell her whom to date. Still, he can't help the way he sighs when she shakes her head.
"He and I made up a while ago. Not that he was very good at apologizing," she laughs, and his stomach responds instantly. He knows what that means. Another freebie for Steve when he doesn't even deserve a single one.
The laughter, too, gives away a topic change. Lea hates talking about anything too serious that isn't directly related back to their careers, and he offers a resigned sigh as he pulls into her- thankfully covered- parking spot, undoing the latch on his seatbelt.
"You know I don't like the bastard," he tells her seriously, throwing her one last stern look before getting out of the car to get his bags.
"It's not that big a deal, seriously," she shrugs, grabbing one of his bags before he can get to it. "If it was an issue, I'd call the Jon police. But you have nothing to worry about. You're clearly the winner," she grins, reaching a hand out to touch on his cheek, all evidence of her earlier worries suddenly gone. Still, as upset as that makes him on principle, he can't help softening at her touch, knowing that he's finally back here with her again.
"So does that mean that we're still...?"
"Fuck yes, are you kidding?"
He can't help the grin that comes over his face as he runs after her, chasing her all the way up to the bed in her condo.
It's a relief when she doesn't miss the alcohol hanging out with Jon and her friends at a chic club downtown, a stark contrast to her awkward dinner with Stephen, where she spent the majority of the night staring wistfully at the untouched cosmopolitan.
Here, though, the energy is enough to keep the room alive and moving, the laughter and the dancing fuel for her own slightly inebriated feeling of joy.
Jon, on the other hand, has had his fair share of drinks by now, and is feeling no shame in proving just how well he can dance in the middle of the floor, Lea doing her best to cheer him on as she claps to the beat.
She doesn't expect it when his hands drag her off of the soft cushion of the seat and onto the floor with him, leading her into an easy dance between the two of them, slipping into a natural rhythm only acquired by years of singing, dancing, and acting beside the other.
Jon's stamina skyrockets when he's drunk- even just tipsy- and by the time they've spent an hour in the middle of the dance floor, she's successfully turned in his hands until she's grinding up against him, his hands roaming over her front and continually dipping lower.
There's another guy behind him, grinding up against him and making Lea feel far more jealous than she would if she wasn't sober, but she knows that he isn't the reason for the hardness pressing against her as Jon's hands slowly move past her hips and down on her body, making her question her choice of dress the closer he gets to slipping beneath the hem to press a daring finger up against her soaked panties, rubbing at her through the fabric.
She stops him just in time, moving his hand higher once more until he finally gets impatient, and drags her back to their now-abandoned booth, empty glasses still littering the table.
The booth winds around the table in a comfortable half-circle, perfectly intimate for a small group of people, and even more so, when there's only two of them. Slipping into the middle with her, Jon wastes no time to lave attention on her neck, kissing, sucking, nipping there, anxious fingers eager to get under the fabric of her dress and inside of her.
His arrival earlier that day had him tackling her to her bed and tickling her mercilessly, but nothing else. Now, he's doing everything in his power to make up for it, leaving her with what will likely be an embarrassing hickey to explain to Stephen by the time he's done with it as his fingers ghost over the soft skin of her thigh under the table.
She can't help the soft moan that slips past her lips, grateful suddenly for the loud music drowning out the cacophonous incoherencies.
"So fucking beautiful," he whispers straight into her ear, and she groans again as her head falls back, feeling his hand eagerly part her legs under the table to pull aside the fabric of her panties, his thumb drawing lazy circles around her entrance, just enough to tease her and spread her legs a little further of her own volition.
"Shhh, not too far," he whispers again, and she has to fight to keep her hips where they're supposed to be, on the seat, not wantonly pressing up against his hand in an effort to helplessly beg for more.
Her hand aches just gripping onto the edge of the seat, and finally she relents, slipping it over to where it doesn't belong until she's touching him through his jeans, eliciting a rough, slow moan from him as he nibbles at her earlobe, laughing softly against the skin. "Don't, baby, or we're going to get ourselves arrested."
He's grinning, though- she can feel it- and she keeps going just until he finally gives in and shoves a finger inside of her, rough and unforgiving. In, out, in, out until she's practically keening with the movements, everything coming out in short breaths and pants.
It's too tempting just to come all over his fingers- two of them rhythmically pumping in and out of her now, his thumb concentrating all its attention on her clit as she moans- but he'll still be hard, and she'll still want him, all of him, even if it does happen.
"Daddy, please," she begs him once, twice, before he finally nods, Lea slipping out of the booth before him, grateful that they didn't open a tab.
Her car is only parked about a block away, and she couldn't be more grateful, hurrying down the street in her heels alongside him, both of them tumbling unceremoniously into the backseat as soon as she gets the door unlocked.
He has her on her back within seconds, the door shut behind him as he immediately moves to bury his face in her pussy, lapping at her like a dying man, his fingers already back inside her and making her scream as she grips onto the leather backseat.
"Jon-"
"I've got you, baby. Gonna take you so high," he mutters hotly against her folds, and her orgasm washes over her before she can stop herself, still unable to believe that they're actually doing this in the backseat of her car as Jon's fingers finally slow down as her body follows suit, watching him climb up and over her.
Her hands scramble for his fly before her brain can really adjust to what she's doing, tearing down his jeans to his knees, Jon making quick work of her panties in the same breath.
They cry out in unison as he pushes inside of her in one fluid motion, gripping onto her hips as he thrusts within the confines of the tight space of the car. The groan that leaves him is nigh-indecipherable, and Lea's heels dig into his ass to get him closer to her as she pants for more of him, needing him deeper, harder, faster, now.
It's only been a couple of weeks, but already they can't keep their hands off of each other, scrambling for more bodily contact, faster.
She's not even drunk, and she still can't think of anything that would make this any better, Jon incoherent as he buries his face against the skin of her neck, making her shudder and clench around him.
When he comes before she does, his thumb takes care of her better than she ever could have, getting her off around his cock for the second time just five minutes after his own orgasm.
The clean-up following isn't nearly as easy, but they do their best, Jon sufficiently sobered up by then to avoid anything entirely too messy. Her panties long forgotten in the backseat, Lea doesn't stall once as she climbs into the driver's seat, knowing full well that she going to hold designated driver position for the next eight months.
It's the cuddling that follows later on that night in her bed as she's falling asleep that reminds her- this is what makes them so great. Not the sex, not the fact that she's having his baby, but the fact that their friendship is unbreakable, that they're this close without even having to so much as think about it. No one even compares to the man cuddled up behind her, his arms tightly wrapped around her midriff.
"Jon?" she mutters quietly, her own voice sounding foreign even to her own ears when she finally does speak again, turning just slightly to face him in his arms.
"Mm?"
"Have you told your parents?"
The realization that this isn't just any conversation seems to hit him instantly, and he frowns into the darkness as he sits up slightly, her bed sheet pooling at his waist and leaving his torso bare.
"I was thinking about that today on the flight, actually."
That could mean anything.
"And?"
"Of course I'm telling them," he laughs, running a hand through her hair, his fingers changing their mind halfway through and deciding instead to rub at her scalp, massaging gently and making her offer a soft sigh of contentment at the feeling. "Are you kidding? Why wouldn't I?"
"I don't know, I just thought, maybe..."
"I know, they'll be devastated that it won't be the two of us raising it."
She feels nauseous almost instantly, breaking away from his hand to sit up as well, cross-legged and a good couple feet away from him. She can see the way he tenses, too, propping one leg up onto the mattress as he rests his arm on his bent knee, running a hand first over his face, then through his hair.
"Kind of like me," he adds quietly, and suddenly, she's grateful for the darkness to hide the way she's tearing up despite her every attempt not to. "Have you told your parents?"
The subject change is predictable- Karl is going to be a great father, and Lea isn't going to get the opportunity to be a great mother. That's it. She'll see Jon and their baby maybe once a month if she's lucky- unless she moves- and there's nothing she can do about it. She agreed.
Even if she were to bail out and keep the baby, refuse to give it to them- it's still half of her and half of Jonathan. Knowing that she had betrayed him, hurt him, knowing that she had to look at that beautiful face knowing that she'd lost him because she was too selfish to do the right thing-
"Of course I've told them," she informs him robotically, wondering for a split second whether or not to also tell him that they told her to seek refuge at home in an effort to make her feel better about the situation. She feels instantly guilty over it, knowing full well that Jon is likely more than aware of the fact that she's hurting over this.
Apparently just as much as he is.
"My dad was going to offer to buy you that house again," she laughs, though it doesn't sound genuine.
"Lea, if I could-"
"Don't," she tells him, shaking her head. "Just don't."
Sitting up on his knees, he scoots over until he has her wrapped up in his arms, her face tucked into his chest as he holds her close. She has half the mind to grab her pillow and some extra sheets and sleep on the couch because this isn't fair, but she doesn't, instead melting into his arms. It's the familiarity of it all that gets her. The way he smells like his aftershave and the slightly sweaty trace of their frenzied lovemaking from before.
"You know I love you, right? So much."
A part of her is tempted to tell him that apparently he doesn't love her enough to realize what this is doing to her, but she doesn't, just nodding numbly against his chest.