Hello! Look, it's chapter 3 of this 'one shot'. Who would've guessed, huh? I don't honestly know how many chapters this will end up being. It's not going to be another huge 40+ chapter epic, but we'll see. It's fun to write and it keeps me from getting too bogged down in TG (which, if you're curious, will probably be updated next week and will probably me at least as emotionally painful as the last chapter).

As always, thank you to everyone who reads and everyone who reviews- I love hearing what you think. I'm also on twitter at lucythespencer if you want to let me know your thoughts there.

A/N: pretty mild. A few violent references, a little bit of sex and bad language, and appearances by everyone's favorite California hipster. Shoutout to Lexi for providing the inspiration for Nick's 'unique' gift. Quotes from these are days by 10,000 maniacs, and this land is mine, closer, and white flag by dido.

{in every hour you'll know it's true
that you are blessed and lucky}

Your day starts with an apology.

"He's been a little cranky this morning," you explain to Noah's teacher as you try urging him to hang his jacket up in his cubby. "And he wouldn't eat much of his breakfast, so he'll probably be a real bear pretty soon once he realizes he's hungry- I'm sorry about that. You see, he just found out he's going to be a big brother," you say, voice dropping to a loud whisper, "so I think there's some jealousy going on."

"Mmhmm," his teacher hums, seemingly skeptical. "Noah, will you put your coat away and then go sit on your mat?"

Noah instantly stops his whining, does as told, and then toddles off with nary a complaint. Well then. You give his teacher a sheepish grin. "I'll be back to get him at the usual time."

"He sure showed you," The Boyfriend says with a chuckle after you both waved goodbye to Noah.

"How is that funny? He's already resentful and the baby won't even be here for another eight months."

"He's resentful?"

"Can't you see? That's why he's acting up."

The Boyfriend stops walking and turns around, resting his hands gently on your shoulders. "Or it could be because he's almost two years old and that's what kids do. I promise you, this has nothing to do with the baby."

"I've just worked so hard on trying to make sure he feels secure and doesn't have attachment issues, and now-"

"Liv. Hon. Listen." When you stop talking, he tries again. "He does feel secure. You know why? Because you're a good mother. You said it yourself, you've worked so hard. And yeah, he'll be in for a shock when we bring the baby home, but that's normal and it'll pass. He knows we love him and that's the important thing. Okay?"

"Okay." You nod, not entirely convinced, but you have to give him points for talking to you like you are still a semi-rational human being and not just a neurotic baby incubator.

He leans in and kisses your forehead. "Did I ever mention that you're such a good mom?"

"You might have, I'm not sure," you joke. "Now c'mon, let's go meet Little Bean."

{after all the battles and the wars
the scars and loss
I'm still the queen of my domain
and feeling stronger now}

"Your phone is blowing up," The Boyfriend observes during the cab ride to the hospital. It had been buzzing constantly the entire time, causing you to ponder whether it would actually make a better vibrator than that back massager you got at Target. God, you have some serious issues here.

"I think Nick's too excited to sleep." It was barely after five AM California time, but he'd already been texting you for hours. Which wasn't such a bad thing, actually, because you'd been too anxious to sleep much last night and he had kept you sane by chatting with you about non-baby topics (The Boyfriend doesn't know it yet, but he really owes Nick one for that). But now he had gone back to sending you ideas for gender reveal parties- yet another thing you never knew existed before you got pregnant- and the whole squad had also been sending you good luck messages. "Plus Carisi's apparently gonna win fifty bucks if it's twins. He heard somewhere that the older you are, the more likely you are to have multiples."

The Boyfriend, who up until now has been remarkably calm about all things pregnancy-related, turns a little pale when he hears this. "How old does he think you are, anyway?"

"I don't know...but now I'm hearing that Amanda's getting $100 if it's triplets." She and Carisi bicker like siblings- there's no sexual tension there- but they bring out this competitive streak in each other that reminds you so much of your partnership with Elliot. "I'm telling Fin to get them back to work. I can't have Amanda relapsing before they even get around to predicting when I'll go into labor."

You hold hands on the way into the hospital and on the elevator ride up to the OB floor. When you're just outside the office door, he squeezes your hand to get your attention. "Hey. How're you feeling?"

"Nervous," you admit quietly. "Excited." You look around quickly to make sure no one's within earshot before adding, with a tiny smirk, "Like I want you to screw me senseless."

"That can probably be arranged. But not here," he adds, and you know he's joking but the idea of semi-public sex suddenly sounds way more appealing than it probably should to a pregnant 47 year old sex crimes cop. "Liv?"

"Yeah?''

"Just remember, whatever we find out about the baby...we'll get through it, okay? I know we said we're not thinking about the negative- but I wanted to be sure you knew."

"I do," you promise, letting him pull you into a quick hug before you hear the elevator ding and a smile lights up your face. "Hey Alice."

You'd taken The Boyfriend's suggestion to give your former nurse a call, and she was as ecstatic to hear your big announcement as he had said she'd be. (Well. Her first response was actually to chuckle and say "So you're going to have two under three. Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?"). You talked with her a little about your fears when it came to this appointment, and she was the one who convinced you to be as honest as you could in letting your new OB know about your past ahead of time. Then she had paused and asked if you wanted her to come with you for this first checkup.

"No, no, I couldn't ask you to do that," you had said.

"I know," she replied. "That's why I'm offering."

Naturally, you had said no at first. You've never been great at accepting help, and you didn't want to be that patient, the difficult one who shows up with her whole entourage. But ultimately you took her up on the offer. You honestly aren't certain how you'll react once you're there, and you're afraid that if you start to panic, The Boyfriend's immediate reaction will be to get angry at the doctor. This way you're sure you have a neutral person there who'll stay focused on you.

Besides, you admit it's kinda nice having the support of another woman. You've always had a shortage of female friends, and while Alice isn't quite old enough to be your mother, she's been through the whole pregnancy and parenting thing several times before so she's got the wisdom of experience. You reach out and clasp one of her hands between yours, still with an anxious smile on your face. "Thank you again. I'm so glad you're here."

"Course, honey. You holdin' up okay?" When you nod, she turns to The Boyfriend. "And I imagine you must be feeling pretty proud of yourself right now."

"Don't feed his ego. It doesn't need to be inflated any more than it already has been," you joke as the three of you enter the waiting room.

You do some people-watching to keep your mind occupied while you wait for your name to be called, looking around the room at half a dozen women in various stages of pregnancy. As you expected, you're by far the oldest- a couple of these girls are maybe even young enough that they could be your granddaughter. You and The Boyfriend are already used to being mistaken for Noah's grandparents, and you can only assume it'll be the same with this baby.

The Boyfriend is reading a magazine with "The Disappearance of MH 370- New Clues, Still No Answers" on the cover, and you're about to tell him how Carisi thinks Shakira and Pitbull predicted the crash years ago when the nurse calls your name.

She leads you into an exam room and points toward a blue hospital gown, telling you to get changed and that the doctor would be with you in just a few minutes. You quickly do as told, heart thumping in nervous anticipation, trying to keep focused on the thought of seeing your baby to distract yourself from how you already felt far too exposed.

Your two companions join you once you tap on the door to tell them the coast is clear. The Boyfriend takes one look at you and can tell something's wrong, coming to stand behind you and rub your back in circles. His palm is warm and it's a welcome distraction from the cool air hitting your bare legs that, combined with the sterile hospital smell of the exam room, threatens to take you back to another time.

"You're in charge here, remember?" he says quietly. "If you tell them to stop, they will."

You nod, face feeling flushed despite the chill because the longer you sit here, the more frustrated you get with yourself for stressing out so much about this. For you, the only thing worse than actually being afraid is having anyone else know about it. It's for the baby, you remind yourself, you can do it for the baby.

Alice saves the day by asking if you've had any strange cravings yet (you haven't, minus that one morning you drank all the orange juice), and she tells you about the time late in her second pregnancy when she drove her husband insane with her endless demands for anything orange-flavored.

There's a knock at the door and then a tall woman with a light Caribbean accent walks in, followed by a much shorter woman in scrubs. "Hello, I'm Dr. Armstrong and this is Stephanie, my nurse. I think you two spoke on the phone?"

"We did," you say, shaking her hand as everyone else introduced themselves. She had called you after they'd received your records from your old doctor and the new patient information forms you'd filled out ahead of time, wanting to know what they could do to make things less stressful for you, and you were grateful for how accommodating she'd been. "You were...you took a lot of weight off my mind. So thank you."

"Of course," she says as she starts checking your vitals, and you try not to flinch when she wraps her hand around your wrist to check your pulse. "A little on the high side, but that could just be nerves. We'll try again in a few minutes, okay?"

You nod, angry at not being able to force yourself into a less anxious state. C'mon. You're already fucking this up, get it together. The Boyfriend reaches out his hand for you again and you shoot him a look that says, in no uncertain terms, don't touch me.

He gets the message and stays off to your side, close enough that he's right there if you needed him but still giving you your space (and still watching the doctor like she's a suspect under surveillance, cataloging her every move). To his relief- and yours- the first part of the exam goes relatively smoothly. The doctor is careful to talk you through everything before it happens, and when she's not doing that, Alice keeps chatting with you about neutral topics to keep you from slipping into your own head.

Your heart starts to race a little more when you have to lie down because you know what's coming, and this time when The Boyfriend extends his hand, you don't refuse. He moves his chair so that he's sitting right by your head and the two of you are at eye level with each other. "Hey...look at me?"

You open your eyes, not even realizing that you'd closed them. "I'm alright."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. As much as I can be with..."

"I know. That doesn't seem like, uh. It's an awkward position," he says, and the uncomfortable look on his face is enough to get a smile out of you.

"Oh c'mon, you've seen a lot worse." Ironically, one of your biggest fears hadn't been about how you would react, but how an unfamiliar doctor would react to seeing your scars. At this point in your life, it's something you've more or less accepted because you really have no other choice. You're always going to hate them and you're never going to be fully okay with the way you look, but you're not fixated on them like you used to be. Besides, The Boyfriend is the only one who actually sees it all, and he's proven again and again that it's not an issue for him. But to someone who's never seen them and doesn't know what to expect- well. You've had more than enough doctors who look at you and can't hide their initial reaction, no matter how hard they try, and it's inevitably followed by an uneasy silence or some form of 'oh, I'm so sorry'. You're not sure which one hurts more.

So with this in mind, you'd made sure to let them know about your injuries beforehand (in painstaking detail, probably way more than necessary). That way, you hoped, they could get all the horror out of their system beforehand and you wouldn't have to look at them knowing that they're imagining the worst experience of your life. And so far, it seems to have worked- or else they just have better poker faces than most.

"Well, Olivia, you seem to be in perfectly good health," Dr. Armstrong says, resting her hand on the ultrasound machine. "We'll talk more in depth about everything in a little while, but first- are you ready to see your baby?"

Your eyes widen, still not used to hearing those words, and for a moment you're so in awe that all you can do is nod and give her a dopey smile.

"We are," The Boyfriend translates, although he too looks as nervously excited as you've ever seen him.

The doctor explains the process and reminds you that this is likely the only time you'll have to have an internal ultrasound, which is comforting for obvious reasons. You knew what to expect, or so you thought, until you actually got a look at the condom-covered probe and oh god. No. I'msorryI'msorrypleasegoddon't.

Alice sees your knuckles turn white as you clutch the side of the table and tries to reassure you that it's less uncomfortable than a pap smear, which is all good and well except that you keep staring at the wand and it looks cold and hard and pointed and you are trying very, very hard to pretend like you're not on the verge of panic because no. You're not going to do this. Not here. nogodstoppleasestop. I'll be good. I promise. Just stop.

"You might feel a little bit of pressure," the doctor says, and she's wrong because it fucking hurts, it hurts like hell and you bite your tongue until you draw blood and you try not to make a sound and then she's telling you to relax and now The Boyfriend is the one who's cringing, because he knows more than anyone what happens when someone says the R-word to you.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I just- can I just have a minute?" you ask, feeling your whole face flush and your hands getting clammy in response to the sharp pain low in your stomach. 'It's all psychological,' you'd been told, there's nothing physically wrong with you that would cause the entire lower half of your body to lock up in some sort of muscle spasm every once in a while, 'so try not to stress about it.' Oh. Okay then.

So here you are, not stressing about it because it's not like you have a roomful of people waiting on you. Once upon a time, your chosen (aka only) method of relaxation was drinking, but now you had a slightly better handle on things. You think.

"Hey. It's alright." The Boyfriend speaks in a whisper that only you can hear, hand still holding yours. "Just remember, this isn't the toughest thing you'll ever have to do for this kid."

"I know. I still have to push him or her out somehow, huh?"

"But at least they make drugs for that. Imagine when we have to send him off for college. Or when he and Noah ask if they can borrow the car because they wanna spend the weekend at the beach. With girls. And no adult supervision."

You smile softly even though the idea is horrifying, because in his imagined future it's 'we'. Not 'you', not 'I', but we. You trust him, at least much more than you trust yourself, but that 'we' is definitely not something you take for granted. "I'll let you be the bad cop for that one."

"I guess that's only fair since you were the one who had to carry him around for nine months, right?" He smiles back, pushing aside a piece of hair that had fallen in front of your face. "But seriously- we don't have to do this today if it's too much. You're in charge."

"No, I...I can do it. I need to see my baby," you say, freshly determined that you are gonna get through this no matter what. You're not leaving here without knowing that she's okay because, like The Boyfriend said, this is not the toughest thing you'll have to do for her.

You turn your head back toward the doctor and tell her that you're ready to try again. At least this time, you're prepared for the pain, but then you see the grainy image on the ultrasound screen and you just don't give a fuck. Because that is your baby, and you can't even tell which end is which but she has this tiny racing heartbeat and she's absolutely perfect. You don't even need the doctor to tell you that because you just know.

"Liv?" The Boyfriend asks, touching your shoulder lightly to get your attention. "Did you hear that? Liv?"

"What? No, I...no. I'm sorry, I guess I spaced out," you apologize, even as you're still unable to look away from the monitor.

The doctor laughs warmly. "That's quite alright. It's pretty amazing, isn't it?"

Amazing doesn't even do it justice. Under any other circumstances, the blurry display wouldn't have held your attention for more than a few seconds before you decided there's really nothing to see. But right now you don't see a blob, you see the living breathing tiny human being that blob will become in just a few short months, the one that will be yours from the second they place her in your arms. No custody hearings or paperwork or fear that one day she'll suddenly be taken away, and you won't be waiting for a judge to decide what you already know- that you belong together. "It's...it's incredible. I don't even know what to say."

"Well, everything I can see looks just how it should, and there's a nice strong heartbeat," the doctor assures you. "Of course, there could be something wrong that we can't detect this early on, but for now I don't see anything to be concerned about."

"Can you tell how far along I am?"

She says that based on the baby's size, he or she's probably about eight weeks old. Which, as you had already guessed, meant Little Bean was conceived right around the time you moved. You glance over at The Boyfriend, biting your lip to hide an embarrassed smile as you think back to your last night in the old apartment. He's obviously thinking about the same thing. "That sounds...accurate."

You dig your nails into his palm, glaring as though you had assumed up to this point that the doctor believed Little Bean was the second coming of the Christchild. Later on that afternoon he would ask, "you do understand that everyone knows where babies come from, right?"

"Yes, but they don't need to know the details."

"I didn't say a thing! Did you think I'd tell everyone 'well, funny story. All our furniture was gone and Noah was sleeping in our bed, so we ended up'-"

"Your whole face was turning bright fucking red, you didn't need to say anything!" you point out, laughing as he tries to deny it. "For someone who used to work sex crimes, I swear to God..."

"Hey, keep making fun of me and I'll let everyone know it was your idea."

Regardless of whose idea it was (and yes, it was yours), there was no denying now that this was really happening, that this little person inside you is growing and thriving. You don't want the ultrasound to end, regardless of the pain, but then the doctor hands you a few printed screenshots and you happily go right back to staring at your baby.

"He has your eyes," The Boyfriend jokes.

"I hope she has yours," you say before noticing that right now, his are suspiciously shiny. "You're crying."

"Am not," he insists, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He had made a joke earlier that morning about overemotional pregnant women when you got mad at him for forgetting to buy bacon, so you had made a bet with him that he'd be the first one to cry at seeing the baby. Loser buys you bacon (so really, you win either way).

The doctor tells you that you can get dressed and then meet her back in her office. As The Boyfriend stands up to follow everyone else out, you reach out for his arm. "Hey baby?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." When you look over your shoulder and see that you're alone in the room, you pull him in for a kiss. "I guess I'm kinda glad you knocked me up."

"I did a pretty good job, I've gotta say."

You grin in agreement, giving him another kiss on the cheek. "And I want my bacon on a cheeseburger. With thousand island and extra pickles."

{you'll know it's true that you
are touched by something
that'll grow and bloom in you}

By the time you leave the doctor's office, you have so many missed calls that you know one of two things must have happened- either Fin has completely lost control and Carisi's now running the unit, or Nick's baby fever has reached permanent brain damage-level proportions.

It's the latter. You snap a picture of your ultrasound printout, and you swear your phone is ringing even before you're done pressing 'send'. "Liv! Baby! That's the baby! You gotta tell me everything. But wait, first- do you have a theme in mind for your scrapbook?"

"My...scrapbook?"

"For the baby!"

"Ah. No? When am I supposed to make a scrapbook? I still haven't had time to even burn all Noah's pictures onto a CD."

"I have it under control, Liv, just leave it to me. Unemployed, remember?" Nick complains daily about being jobless, but you know he's actually quite content being a full time father and hipster. "I'm joining an organic scrapbooking club after gardening season is over- c'mon, tell me about my new sobrino."

You give him the basic rundown during the ride home- at least, until you start hearing noise in the background. "Uh, where are you?"

"I should probably let you go, the protest's about to start."

"Protest for what?"

"Some local carpenters built a little wooden teahouse in a public park and now the city wants to tear it down. It's art, Liv! Art needs to be free!"

To you it sounds less like art and more like a future crime scene, but you leave him to his protesting (after promising you he won't get himself arrested). You send a quick text to the squad letting them know that everything's good as you're arriving at your building, and once you're inside your apartment you head straight for the kitchen and take your photo out of your purse, hanging it on the fridge along with Noah's latest artistic masterpieces.

After that you eagerly shed your jeans and sweater, trading them for sweats and a t-shirt before climbing into bed. You had arranged to take the entire day off because you didn't know how you'd be feeling after the appointment, and now you're grateful that you did so that you can catch up on some of the sleep you've missed the last few nights while you were worrying about the baby. It was such a relief to lie down now, hand pressed against your belly, knowing that (for now) you both had a clean bill of health. You'd even gotten the okay to have sex- talk about relief- as long as you didn't 'overexert yourself'. (Both you and The Boyfriend had looked a little like kids who'd been caught hooking up in the backseat when she told you that). You'd wanted to, uh, indulge a little in your newfound freedom once you'd left the office, but The Boyfriend was late for a meeting so you were out of luck. He promised he'd make it up to you tonight. You told him if he didn't come home with that cheeseburger he owes you, the only action he'll be getting will come courtesy of his right hand.

With visions of bacon dancing in your head, you drift off to sleep.

{the closer I get, the more I see
why everyone says that I look happier
when you're around, the better I feel}

You awake to the sound of little feet skittering across the hardwood floor. "Mommy! Mommy!"

"Noah, sssh, Mom's sleeping," you hear The Boyfriend say, but Noah's already charging on ahead down the hall.

Any worries you might've had about him holding onto a grudge from this morning vanish as soon as he bursts through the door, babbling excitedly about something you can't quite understand. "Hi there, baby! Mommy missed you today. Did you have fun at school?"

He climbs into bed and launches himself into your lap, giving you a sloppy kiss on the cheek. "Grass, momma! Grass!"

"Grass? Did you go to the park?"

He frowns at you, irritated that you would even ask such a question, and then goes back to 'talking' as fast as he can get the words out while he waits for you to follow him. "See? See grass?"

Sure enough, there it is sitting on your kitchen counter- a large colorful terra cotta flowerpot filled with...grass. You look over your shoulder at The Boyfriend, who just shrugs.

"It was sitting at the door when we got here."

"And you didn't bother to check and see who it was from?"

"Who else? Nick." You pick up the card sitting next to it, which informs you that the grass is 100% organic, locally grown and allergen-friendly (what about people who're allergic to grass?) and that, 'for best results', you should give it 'homebrewed tea made from compost' instead of water. Great, even your plant is a hipster.

After dinner, while Noah's splashing around in the tub under The Boyfriend's watchful eye, you take advantage of the rare quiet moment to give Nick a call. Again.

"Did you get the grass I sent?"

"Uh, yeah, I did. Thank you, that was...unexpected! I've never gotten grass before."

"Flowers are so mainstream," he explains. "Grass will keep regenerating itself, plus it gives off fresh oxygen so it's good for you and the baby. And it's chemical-free, so there's really no reason you couldn't eat it if you wanted to. It's a good source of fiber-"

"Yeah, I don't think I'll be eating it," you say before he can launch into a pseudo-scientific speech on the benefits of fiber.

"All the proceeds go to charity- they hire creators of failed startups and vintage clothing shops to hand paint the flowerpots."

"Wow. That is...wow." You chat a little while longer about his physical therapy, his afternoon of protesting (he didn't get arrested), and his weekend plans with Zara before you hear a beeping noise on the other end.

"Oh- shit, I forgot what time it was. That's Amanda."

"Tell her to stop making bets with Carisi on my baby," you joke before saying goodbye. She and Nick had some sort of long distance friends with benefits thing that you didn't quite understand, but they both seemed to be fairly happy with it for the time being and so you've decided not to interfere. You're secretly skeptical, of course, but you're keeping your mouth shut.

Besides, you've got enough in your own life to occupy your mind. After you've finished Noah's bedtime routine and tucked him in for the night, you stand sideways in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to gauge whether you look any pregnant-er than you did this morning.

The Boyfriend takes one look at you and tries not to laugh. "I didn't say anything!" he protests when you turn and glare at him.

"Yeah, nice try. I can hear what you're thinking." You shut the door behind you, leaving it open a crack before you get undressed and into the shower. A couple minutes later, you smile to yourself as you hear him get in behind you, wrapping his arms around your (still flat) stomach. "You done making fun of me now?"

"I wasn't! It was kinda cute, that's all. I couldn't help it." You were in the midst of washing your hair and so he takes over, massaging your scalp in circles, and you sigh because damn, if that isn't the best feeling in the world.

When you turn around to rinse your hair off, he takes advantage of the way your head's tilted back, baring your neck to him. He kisses a trail up from your collarbone to your jawline while one hand reaches for your breast and the other cups your ass, pulling you in closer. "I warn you, if you're starting something you don't plan on following through with..."

"You're warning me?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"I'm pregnant, I'm allowed to be demanding. So don't push it..." Your voice trails off as he takes you by the shoulders and gently turns you around again, soapy fingers running downward all the way from your shoulders to the backs of your thighs. "Shit. That...that is good. Really good."

He repeats the motion a few times and then adjusts the showerhead so that the water cascades down your back. "Go get dried off and I'll be right behind you in just a sec."

"You're kicking me out?"

"Just while I finish up." He pulls back the curtain slightly, prodding you toward that direction. "The hot water's running out and I don't want you to get cold, so go."

"You're ridiculous," you say, drying off quickly and half-wrapping the towel around yourself. As soon as you finish, the water shuts off and he steps out, pretending to be surprised that you're right there waiting.

"It's like you want something." Before you can reply, he reaches out and lifts you up, carrying you out into the bedroom as your legs automatically wrap around his waist. "Figured I should do that now while I still can." You roll your eyes and he sets you down on the bed, motioning for you to lie back as his mouth dips down in between your breasts. "But even when I can't, you're still going to be so fucking sexy, know that?"

"Do you have a pregnancy fetish you never told me about?" you ask, groaning loudly in appreciation as his teeth graze one of your nipples ever so lightly.

"Only you," he promises before his tongue soothes the spot where his teeth had just been. One of his hands travels up your thigh, and then he pauses. "Can I...?"

"God, yes," you say, reaching out for the back of his head as he kisses your stomach and then continues downward...

{this land is mine but I'll let you rule}

Later on, you're half asleep when you feel him reach out and start running his fingers through your hair. He loves that you've let it get long again. You do too- sometimes. As much as you once wanted it to grow out, you're thinking it's not the most practical choice for a working mom of two small children. But you'll hold off on cutting it for as long as you can, precisely because of moments like this when you snuggle closer to him to signal your approval and he kisses the top of your head. "You want me to let you sleep?"

"Mmmno," you murmur. You still haven't opened your eyes, and they stay closed so you can fully absorb the feel of his mouth on yours, of your tongues colliding and his palms smoothing over your skin as he hikes up the old t-shirt of his that you're wearing. He nudges your arms up above your head so he can pull the shirt off without you having to sit up, and you leave them in that position as he nips at the sensitive flesh on the inside of your arm. It's an area that's still littered with scars, more than a few of them self-inflicted, but once again he doesn't seem to notice. He's too busy whispering deliciously dirty things into your ear about how much he wants you, legs straddling yours and grinding against you in case there was any doubt. He kisses the pulse point of your upturned wrist, pulling your underwear down and off and and then stroking you with a practiced rhythm, one fingertip pushing inside you until he hears your displeased whine. "No. Just fuck me."

He doesn't hesitate to do as told, bracing himself with his hands to keep his weight off your stomach as he thrusts into you. You're a little disappointed, because you love the feeling of having him on top of you, love the sense of security you get when you're pinned underneath him. But he knows this, so he compensates by pulling your legs up around his waist and leaning forward so he can hold your arms down. "Better?"

You nod, all the tension draining out of your body as he fucks into you again and again, picking up the pace as his movements become more erratic. Your back arches sharply as he reaches down with one hand, rubbing your clit roughly until you lose it and he kisses you to muffle the sound of your moans.

"I...oh, fuck," you sigh, one last shudder running through your body when you feel him coming inside you. "Fuck."

He laughs, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him. "Happy now?"

"Yeah. Yeah I am." You yawn, pleasantly drained and content to fall back asleep with him holding you just like this. You're both quiet for a moment until you break the silence with a soft "Hey. Baby?"

"Mmm?"

You still don't say it much. Maybe it's time for that to change. "I love you."

{I'm in love and always will be}