Hello! It's been a while since I've updated this one, but I'm back! :D
A/N: this one is for all of you who wanted smut...you know who you are. There *is* a plot, but there's also sex and this may be NSFW. I suppose that depends on where you work. Quotes from underneath your clothes by shakira.
Between this and the other EO one-shot I posted not long ago, I've reached my max on happiness and I'm off to go write a particularly heartwrenching TG chapter. Byeeeee. But thanks in advance to everyone who reads and responds. :)
"Are you ready yet?"
"We've got plenty of time," you call out from behind the closed bathroom door. "Do you really think I'd be late for this?"
"No, but I didn't think you needed to get this dressed up to eat steak."
"And chicken, and ribs, and shrimp," you add dreamily, taking a final look in the mirror before dousing your curls in hairspray. Yes, maybe you were a bit overdone- but goddamnit, this was your night and you were going to enjoy it. You'd cut your typical morning hair-and-makeup routine way back in the last month or two, wanting to devote as much time as possible to sleep, and in the past few weeks it seemed like you had rotated between the same couple of comfortable outfits day after day.
But tonight you wanted something different. After three days of being homebound with a sick Noah and wearing nothing but sweatpants, you were ecstatic at the chance to get out and you channeled that energy into making yourself look a little nicer than usual.
You smoothed down your skirt and checked your phone once again for any messages from Nick. Noah was feeling much better now that the antibiotics had kicked in, but he still wasn't quite 100 percent, and you hoped that meant he'd go to bed without a fight and not be a holy terror for Nick and Amanda.
No messages, just a picture sent by Amanda showing Nick and Noah up to their elbows in some sort of paint. [he says don't worry, all natural and nontoxic gluten-free]
You drop your phone in your purse and slip on your shoes- flats only these days, even though your favorite stilettos would've gone perfectly with your outfit- before you make your grand appearance in the living room. "How do I look?"
He gives you a low whistle of appreciation when he turns around, reaching over the back of the couch for your hand.
"Is that a yes, then?" you ask, grinning flirtatiously.
"It's a 'maybe we should'-"
"Hold it. Hold it right there. If you're going to suggest we skip dinner...don't even joke about something like that."
He starts to laugh, but you weren't kidding, and he apologizes as he helps you put on your coat. "Sorry, that was thoughtless of me."
"It really was! You tease me with all this food, and then you act like you're kidding? No way. I'm gonna test how stretchy the material of this dress really is." Another reason for getting dressed up tonight was so that you'd have a chance to wear the new dress you'd bought earlier in the week. You'd picked it out specifically for Lilly's baptism, but you'd spent more than you expected and so you felt like you should find as many opportunities as possible to wear it- and you sincerely hoped you wouldn't be wearing maternity clothes for long after she was born.
"It looks good on you."
"Thanks," you say, looking down at the light green fabric. "I'm starting to wish I'd gotten a darker color, but I figured black was too depressing for church."
The subject of having Lilly baptized Catholic had been the latest source of contention, and ultimately compromise, in your house. You yourself had been baptized in your grandparents' parish at their demand, but neither you nor your mother ever attended church beyond the occasional Christmas eve mass. Having Lilly baptized when you hadn't even worked out exactly what role religion was going to play in her life felt disingenuous to you, like the spiritual equivalent of going to a grocery store to eat all the samples without actually buying anything. But in The Boyfriend's family, baptism was a non-negotiable tradition regardless of how religiously inclined you were (or weren't). Ultimately you gave in because you realized that having her baptized meant a lot more to him than not having her baptized meant to you. Your one condition, though, was that he was responsible for all the arrangements. This may be your first pregnancy, but you're already pretty sure you're not going to be up to planning a party less than a month after you've given birth. The Boyfriend agreed to your terms and then called Nick to pass off the job onto him.
Both of you were getting better at the fine art of compromise in your relationship. This was fortunate, because you were about to ask him to do some compromising of his own.
"You want to do what?" he asks when you casually mention the subject at dinner, nearly choking on a bite of pao de queijo.
"Pretend to be Nick's fiance on Wheel of Fortune."
"Say that again."
"You heard me," you say. "People are staring and you don't need to make a scene."
"I would stare too, because that's the craziest thing I've ever heard you, or anyone, say!"
"I don't know- remember back at SVU when that one woman tried to poison her husband because she thought he was having an affair with a horse?"
"I should take a survey of everyone here, and I guarantee none of them would think this plan of yours is a good one," he says, signaling to the waiter that you're ready for more steak.
"Nick's helped us out a lot, and he's had a rough few years. It's not like I'm dying to be on a game show, but if I can help make his dream come true..."
He huffs. "So you said yes when he asked you to be his fake wife, but yet you won't marry me."
"But when- if we get married, it'll be for real," you remind him, reaching across the table to put your hand on top of his.
This seems to reassure him somewhat. "Can he at least say that the baby isn't his?"
"What? So you want a national TV audience to think that I'm engaged to one guy and pregnant with someone else's baby?" You shake your head, polishing off another piece of bacon-wrapped chicken. "This is all about your weird caveman pride in knocking me up."
"I am proud! Can you blame me?" He smirks and you roll your eyes. Men.
{when the friends are gone, when the party's over
we will still belong to each other}
"You feeling okay?" The Boyfriend asks when you get home and collapse onto the couch.
"Fine, fine."
"Don't tell me you're still thinking about that idiot maitre'd."
"Maybe I am." When you had first arrived at the restaurant and sat down at your table, the young waiter had looked straight at you and asked if you wanted to see a wine list. At first you had shrugged it off as an honest mistake, that he was so accustomed to asking the question that it came out automatically, but now you weren't so sure. "Seriously. I thought I had moved past that is-she-pregnant-or-just-fat stage."
"You don't look fat. Especially wearing that...you can clearly tell that's a baby," he adds tiredly.
"Uh-huh."
"What do you want me to say? It's the truth. Not bullshitting you."
"I know you're not." He sits down next to you and you're quick to rest your head on his shoulder, putting a hand on your belly in case Lilly starts kicking again. You'd had a lot of anxieties and insecurities over the years, but you had been relatively confident about your appearance for most of your life, especially once you were an adult and didn't have to hear 'you and your mother look nothing alike, you must be a carbon copy of your father' from well-meaning strangers. Not that it was any better at home, with your mom either picking apart your every feature or telling you that you were 'too pretty, it's going to get you in trouble.' It certainly messed you up for a while, and you did some stupid things in your twenties because you were so taken with anyone who found you attractive, but you eventually got to a place where you were comfortable with yourself and didn't need that constant reassurance.
And then everything was turned upside down. You were never going to be able to think of yourself the same way, not after spending days hearing that you're «so pretty» from someone who saw you as nothing more than an object that was his to torment. You tried to change, you cut your hair and did your makeup differently and got an entirely new wardrobe, but none of that did anything to help you forget about the scars underneath, especially not when you yourself were still adding to them.
They're something that you're self conscious about to this day, and having them get darker and more prominent as your skin stretches hasn't helped. But you've finally started to believe The Boyfriend when he tells you over and over that they honestly don't bother him, and you've stopped scrutinizing them in the mirror because you're too preoccupied with your growing belly- your constant reminder that your daughter is real and she's healthy and thriving.
So after everything you've been through, you can accept the small stuff, like how you're never going to look like the twentysomethings on Instagram with their tiny round baby bumps because you weren't a size zero to begin with. But for Christ's sake, if you look more 'fat' than 'pregnant' now, what the hell are you going to look like once Lilly's born?
"Does it matter?"
"Hmm?" you ask, not realizing that you had said that last part aloud.
"I'm just saying, does it matter? Cause personally I don't care if- huh."
"Huh?"
"There's no way to say what I wanna say without pissing you off." He rubs his chin in thought, ridiculous beard crinkling under his touch.(He's still insisting that he won't shave until the baby comes). "But I like you with...I'm not expecting you to lose all this weight as soon as the baby comes, for one-"
"Well, I think we can assume I'll drop the part that's actually baby," you point out.
"Yeah, there's that. But realistically, you're close to menopause, so your metabolism-"
"Okay, if you're trying to make me feel better, you're failing," you say, elbowing him in the ribs. "For someone with so many women in your life, you sure haven't learned when to shut up."
"All I'm saying is, you look good w-"
"If you're about to say 'I like you better with meat on your bones' or something equally gross, I'm going to hurt you. I'm not a cow."
"I would never say something that demeaning. I was actually going to make a comment about the size of your ass- hey!" he protests as you smack him lightly in the back of the head.
"I hate you. I don't even care that you tried to win my love with steak."
"Liar," he says, laughing as you try to squirm away from him when he starts tickling your sides.
Your fake fighting quickly gave way to real kissing, and you stop him when you feel his hand sliding up your thigh and under your skirt. "Hey...hold up."
"You okay?" he stops kissing you to ask, palm still cupping your cheek and forehead touching yours. You nod and he chuckles. "Just remembered you're still mad at me?"
"I am. I'm just using you for sex," you assure him. "But I wanna...give me a second and I'll be right back."
You get up and head into the bedroom before he can ask questions, shutting the door behind you and reaching into your underwear drawer until you find what's buried beneath all the bras that you can't even dream of fitting into in your current state. Last week you had gone browsing through a maternity lingerie shop on a whim, but you couldn't find anything like what you were envisioning and you were put off by the stupid slogan of 'make him remember how you got this way'. (You're pretty sure he hasn't forgotten). You ended up finding better options at a place across the street, an outlet store for one of those fancy European boutiques where they sell thongs that cost as much as Noah's monthly daycare tuition. The pricetags at this shop still made your eyes water a little, but it was worth it to walk away with exactly what you wanted- a black lace slip that clung to your curves and came just short of covering your ass. The real beauty of it, though, was how it was entirely see-through, and yet the rose pattern embroidered into the lace still managed to camouflage all your scars. When you tried it on and saw that the neckline was even high enough to cover the marks on your chest, you were practically sobbing with gratitude, much to the amusement of the saleslady.
So you change, fluff up your wavy hair, and debate putting on another coat of lipstick before deciding that might get messy. Damn. You look pretty fucking hot for being 47 years old and 20 weeks pregnant, if you do say so yourself.
The Boyfriend seems to agree. "What the...wow," he stammers after you call him into the bedroom in a singsong voice. "Is...that's new?"
"No. I've been wearing it to work for two weeks," you say dryly.
"Now I understand why the chief can't stop staring at you."
"Think he's bad? You should see Tucker."
The Boyfriend makes a face like he just smelled something terrible. "Can we not talk about him every time we're about to-"
"You were the one who mentioned him before!" you point out, laughing at his expression. "C'mere. I'll make you forget allll about him."
He grins as he picks up his phone and holds it out toward you. "So can I...?"
Your first thought was that you are not nearly drunk enough for this. Being stone cold sober makes you too self-conscious and too aware of all the ways that things could go wrong. But after reassurances that the evidence would stay on the removable memory card, not the phone, and that said card would stay in the safe, you relented.
"I probably want people to see these even less than you do," The Boyfriend says, and you have to admit that he's likely right about that.
You felt a little shy and awkward in the beginning, ruining every shot because you were laughing nervously and thinking about how you would kill for a couple shots of tequila right about then, but after a few minutes you found that being the center of your 'photographer's' focused attention was actually quite a turn on. And apparently you weren't the only one who felt that way. As much as you were trying to play the part of the willing subject and behave yourself, you couldn't resist teasing him about the obvious tent in his pants. "I don't think that's very professional, hmm?"
"Fuck off."
"Yeah, let's," you say, laughing and trying to grab the phone out of his hands as he climbs onto the bed. He's got his arms and legs bracketing you on both sides and when he starts kissing you hungrily, you're more than happy to return the gesture with just as much enthusiasm. Lately you had been too tired and achy for any sort of in-bed activity that wasn't, well, sleeping, but your energy and your sex drive were back in full force tonight. And with excellent timing, no less. "God. I missed this."
"I missed-" he says, pecking at your lips and then kissing downward in between words, "Everything. About. You."
"You mean you missed those," you say as he nuzzles at your cleavage.
"They're included in 'everything'." His lips travel back up your neck and you giggle as the coarse hair on his face rubs against your skin. "Here, sit up a little."
He grabs a couple of pillows and sticks them behind your back so that you're reclining at an angle. You're under doctor's orders not to lie flat for too long, so he must intend for you to stay in this position for a while, and your heartbeat quickens in anticipation at the thought. Even Lilly must know something's up with Mom, because you can feel two fluttery kicks to the inside of your abdomen. "Oh..."
"You alright, Liv?"
"Better than that," you say as he settles himself in between your legs. "I think we woke the baby up."
He rubs your stomach through the lace, smiling tenderly as he looks down. "Can you be a good girl and give us a few minutes of privacy?"
"A few minutes? Is that all? Gotta say, I'm disappointed."
"Then I guess I'll have to fix that." He draws one strap down over your shoulder, then the other, until the fabric is bunched just under your breasts and the straps are holding your upper arms tightly against your sides.
You groan when you realize what he's doing. "Oh fuck. Yes."
"Yeah?" It's maybe the closest he's come to tying you up, something you've wanted for a long time but he's always said no to, so this is quite the surprise. "And you'll tell me if you change your mind?" You nod, already trying to clench your thighs together to get some relief. But it's no use when he's still got your legs spread out on either side of his own, and when he sees what you're doing, his only reaction is to push them apart a little further and lean in so that his clothed erection is about a millimeter away from brushing against you. "No. And keep your hands down."
You grab the sheets in your fists as his fingertips start skimming lightly over your breasts, careful to not come close to your nipples. He circles around them, traces the underside of each breast, and you arch your back off of the pillow as he slowly moves his fingers in smaller and smaller spirals.
"How does this feel?" he asks in a low voice. "You act like you want something."
"Mmmyeah," you agree, shifting around so you can feel the straps digging into your arms as he watches you with amusement. He keeps his gaze locked on yours as he reaches between your legs and drags one finger over you through the satin covering your center, stopping just short of your clit. You whine in protest and then he swipes his finger over the swollen little bud. It's barely more than a tap, and it does nothing but make you that much wetter, something he hasn't failed to notice.
"Was that what you wanted?" He's got you completely under his control, your arms restrained and his strong hands keeping your thighs apart, and it's hard to tell who's enjoying it more.
"No...fuck. I want you to touch me," and you shake your head to clarify before he can speak. "Really touch me. C'mon."
He reaches underneath your ass to tilt your hips upward and then lowers his head, mouthing at the soaked fabric of your panties before placing a sweet kiss right above your pelvic bone and then...nothing? "Too bad."
"What?"
"I said, too bad." Without warning, he rolls one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger and tugs at it roughly. "Because you're gonna come for me. Just like this."
You have no doubt that you can, but you're unable to resist asking "...and if I don't?"
"You will. I'm not stopping until you do." He sucks your nipple into his mouth and strokes the hard peak with the flat of his tongue, and thank God that Noah's safely on the other side of town, because there's no way he'd be able to sleep through the noise you're making. The Boyfriend shifts to support himself with one hand, careful to keep his weight off of you as he takes your other breast in his palm and starts kneading it firmly. He bites at the sensitive spot just above your nipple and then takes more of your breast into his mouth while you thrash around underneath him.
Your upper body is arched so sharply toward him that it feels like all your blood is rushing to your head, creating this deliciously floaty feeling as you edge closer and closer to ecstasy. He's got both of your breasts cupped in his hands, pushed together and sliding his tongue back and forth in the cleft between them, and you must be about to draw blood from the way you're digging your fingernails into your palms. "I'm...that's. You're..."
He's somehow able to correctly interpret that, pinching both of your nipples so hard that your eyes are watering as you come. "Fuckfuckfuck...oh my god. Oh. God."
"I told you so," he murmurs in your ear.
"Shut up and- I need you." While that was an incredible orgasm considering that he barely touched you below the waist, you still had plenty of pent-up sexual frustration that needed an outlet now.
"Need me to do what?" he asks, and you almost feel like you should commend him for the amount of self-control it must take for him to be an asshole when he could be fucking you instead.
"Fuck me. Hard." That must have been all he needed to hear in order to get his priorities straight, because he's stripped off his boxers before you can even finish getting the words out. He does the same with your underwear and is reaching for the silky straps around your arms when you stop him. "No. Leave it."
"Liv..." He hesitates, playing with the hem of your slip that has now ridden up over your belly.
"Please."
He nods and motions for you to move to the foot of the bed, your toes gripping the edge of the mattress, and you shiver with anticipation as he lines himself up with your entrance.
"You're a dirty girl," he growls, burying himself inside you to the hilt. He pulls almost all of the way out and then back in again, and again, and again, your whole body moving with every thrust as your arms stay helplessly bound to your sides. "That's it, Liv, take it. Take it all."
You've got your legs as far apart as humanly possible, and he's holding onto your thighs for better leverage as he manages to hit all the right spots. "That's- oh! Right there, again, I..."
"You feel so good, baby," he huffs, both of you glistening all over with sweat from the exertion. He reaches down and strokes your clit with his thumb, grinning as you start to shake and tighten around him. "Come for me, that's my good girl-" he chokes off as he spills into you. "Ah...fuck. Love you."
"Love you," you repeat as he carefully pulls out of you, brushing your lips with his and then helping you get your slip off over your head. The straps have left dark pink marks across your arms, bisecting some old burn scars, and you whisper 'fuck' to yourself as you admire them. You know they'll disappear within a few minutes, but you wish they wouldn't.
"Lilly still awake?" The Boyfriend asks from inside the bathroom.
"Yup, but I think she's getting tired. Or maybe that's just me." You roll over onto your side, eyelids getting heavy. "I can't wait until you and Noah can feel her too."
"Probably won't be long."
You hear him come back into the bedroom and then feel a warm washcloth on your inner thigh. "Mmm thank you. That's nice. Even if I did distract you from your photo shoot."
"It was worth it. And besides, the night's still young," he says in a suggestive tone.
"Yeah, but I'm not." You look over at the bedside clock. 9:30. "I'll probably be up to pee in an hour anyway. You can jump me then...think you can wait that long or is that past your bedtime?" The hand between your legs not-so-subtly brushes over a sensitive spot and you let out a soft whine, your body responding like you didn't just have multiple orgasms less than ten minutes ago. "Or now, now's good too."
He just chuckles and kisses your forehead, covering you up with a throw blanket that you'd kicked to the floor earlier. "Sleep. Both of you. I'll be right here when you wake up."
"Love you," you slur through a yawn, dozing off before you can even hear the reply.