Title/Prompt: Lock
Rating/Warnings: Teen
Word count: 1470
Summary: When you're the parents of eight children, finding time for one another can be a challenge.
Notes: Written for mkrobinson for the BSC Fandom Fest on DW.
Dee feels the mattress shift, and the touch of cool air on her skin as John lifts the sheet to slide back into bed beside her.
She reaches out drowsily and her hand bumps against him, sliding up over his ribs to settle on his chest.
"Hm," he sighs softly, and his hand rests flat over hers, holding her there.
She thinks about rolling closer, pressing kisses to his neck and sliding her leg between his.
In a minute, she thinks, the sheet settling down against her skin again. In a minute, in a minute...
She falls asleep again with her hand over John's heart.
Dee falls in love with her husband over and over again, and the strangest things trigger her own awareness to it.
She watches him load the dishwasher one night, his sleeves rolled up and tired circles under his eyes, and she thinks, I'm so, so lucky to have you.
When they finally crawl into bed and the house is quiet and dark, John starts to mouth kisses against her skin, nudging the loose neck of her nightgown over her shoulder, and then he yawns and she laughs quietly, winding her arms around him to hold him still.
They fall asleep still entwined, John's head tucked under her chin.
Dee throws what she can into the dryer and hauls the rest of the laundry out to hang in the spring sunshine. Bed sheets drift and flutter in the breeze, and she hangs baby rompers and tiny t-shirts and pairs of underwear until there's no space left on the line; until she's out of pegs.
John has taken the boys to Brenner Field. It makes it easier to get the laundry done with the house not quite so full, but it still feels like a loss, not having him there on a Saturday morning.
When the boys come back, grass-streaked and red-cheeked and grinning wide, Dee lets them crawl over her on the couch, listening to them brag about how fast they ran and how high they climbed on the big rock.
They fall asleep after lunch, and Dee comes downstairs again after getting them settled to find John dozing in front of the television.
She rests her head down on his lap and closes her eyes.
When she opens them again, her cheek is resting against one of the couch cushions and she can hear John murmuring quietly to Claire through the baby monitor.
Dee tucks the sheet loosely around Mallory and smooths her curls away from her face.
"But I'm not tired," Mallory mutters, stubbornly clenching her teeth around a yawn. "Just one more chapter?"
"Tomorrow, baby," Dee promises. "Sweet dreams."
Mallory pouts, but Dee's sure she'll be out like a light in the next two minutes.
She pads downstairs again, the murmur of the television the only sound in the house, and John is sprawled on the couch, watching the screen with glazed eyes.
"Boys asleep?" she asks, lifting his arm to curl against his side.
"Mmhmm." He thumbs the volume down and looks down at her with a smile. "Hi."
"Hi." She grins back at him and kisses him. "How was your day?"
"Long." He drops the remote down between his body and the arm of the couch and she knows in a few minutes he's going to be cursing and hunting for it, not knowing where it fell. "How was your day?"
"Busy."
He hums a laugh against her cheek and uses the increasing pressure of his weight to ease her back against the couch cushions. "I don't know how you do it, honey."
"It's easy," she says, though it isn't. It's just not anything she ever wants to complain about; eight little souls so close, vying for love and attention.
John's fingers wind gently into her hair, and in the blue flickering light of the television he buries his face against her neck and grazes his teeth and his mouth over all the places that make her shiver.
"Do you want to go to bed?" she asks hopefully.
"Mm," he agrees, "in a minute. The night is young."
She laughs and tips her head back as he kisses the hollow of her throat.
"Mommy!" Byron calls down from the top of the stairs. "Sarge barfed on my bed."
Dee scrubs her hands over her face. "Okay, honey, I'm coming up."
John mutters curses into her skin, hands sweeping in wide, slow circles under her t-shirt.
"We'll reschedule," she murmurs against the top of his head, and he nods. She leaves him hunting for the remote while she deals with four grumpy sons and a sour-faced cat.
Dee carefully slides the dishwasher closed and wipes a damp sponge over the kitchen counter. The windows are still open to the evening air, crickets singing in the purple light.
John's hands slide around her waist and he presses a kiss against the back of her neck, where loose tendrils of hair are sticking to her skin. "All asleep," he says. "Close enough, anyway."
She laughs and twists so she's facing him, tossing the sponge in the direction of the sink and curling her fingers into his shirt. "Did you read a full chapter to the girls?"
"Do you really think Mallory can't tell when I try to cut things short?" he asks with a grin, and he backs towards the living room, hands against her hips, dragging her with him.
She falls with him into the recliner, and it groans and tips under their weight. John's hands are already under her sundress, palms sliding up and down her thighs, and she braces her weight on the arms of the chair and leans over him to kiss him hard.
His hands slip in under the edges of her underwear and he traces blunt nails and fingertips over her curves and her warm skin until all her nerves are electric tension, until each breath is a gasp against John's mouth.
"Come to bed," she breathes, lowering her hips against his and rolling against him slowly.
"No, no, no," he whispers, breath hot against her neck. "The minute we move, one of them will wake up, or want a glass of water, or have a bad dream..."
She gives a low chuckle and nods. One ear still attuned to the silence upstairs, she nestles closer, the recliner creaking beneath them.
"God, it's been a long time since we did this," John sighs, and Dee shifts her weight onto one knee so he can pull her underwear down.
Dee tuts softly and brushes her lips over his. "You're gonna jinx it."
He pulls her closer and kisses her deeply, leaning up into her, his hands under her dress, urging her closer against him, his hips already rolling upwards.
She reaches between them and guides him into her, electricity sparking over her skin, her heart thudding in her chest. She bites her lip as she lowers herself onto him, glancing nervously to the stairs as John moans her name into her neck.
"Shh," she whispers, and she laughs quietly and arches her back a little, moving against him so his grip on her tightens and he pulls her back again. "We should be doing this in a room with a lock on the door."
"Now you're gonna jinx it," he says breathlessly. "We have to take every opportunity we can get."
She laughs, but before she can answer him he kisses her and leans back, pulling her with him, the old recliner tipping and creaking as they rock together, trying to stifle their loud breathing.
It's not comfortable like the bed; she can't lose herself like she can knowing there's a closed (locked) door; she can't change her position over him — but the heat flares inside her anyway, warmer and hotter and achingly familiar. She arches her back when she comes, her body tightening all over, head tipped back, everything quiet and tense until she finally shudders and gasps out a sigh, the end of it crashing over her like a wave.
She puts her hand over John's mouth and laughs breathlessly — he's always louder, always a little less conscious or concerned about being overheard. He muffles a groan against her palm, his grip on her tight and crushing until it's all over and he's loose and slumped back in the chair, trying to catch his breath again.
They both listen for noises from upstairs, but the house is quiet.
Dee puts her toothbrush back in the holder, next to John's, and clicks the bathroom light off.
John's in bed, naked under the sheet, and he gives her a satisfied, lazy grin. He nods to the bedroom door, which is ajar, light bleeding in from the lamp in the hall. "Lock the door," he says. "The night is young."