[JFM] 7.1: Woody Allen quote
Apr. 5th, 2009 10:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deep_red_bellsooc: written for elementof_risk at their request; any mistakes are mine and mine alone. This is set earlier in Baileigh's pregnancy, probably at about seven or eight weeks. :)
"Sex alleviates tension. Love causes it."
Satin and underwire might not make much noise being thrown across the room, but the sound of feet stomping angrily across the floor was more than enough to alert those downstairs that all was not right in the upstairs bedroom. Sark found Baileigh sitting on the edge of the bed, the room slightly humid and scented with the steam and soap and perfume combination of a fresh shower. Her hair was damp, makeup freshly applied, her skin glowing and clean--and she was clothed in nothing but her underwear, clutching a blouse to her chest and glaring at a pile of bras across the room, a myriad of colors and lace. She looked as though each piece had done her a great, personal wrong, as though she were about to cry. “Love?”
“They don’t fit anymore.”
“Ah.“ He was not, of course, going to pretend he hadn’t noticed or that he didn’t know precisely what she meant, and cautiously reached out to skim his fingers through her hair. “All right…purchase a new selection. Comprised of articles that do fit.”
“How? It hurts to even try to put one on, I can’t go bra shopping with no bra on! I order them online and they take forever to get here and what, I just can‘t go out in public until then? And then what if I ordered wrong, what if they don‘t fit?!” She rubbed the corners of her eyes, then stood suddenly and grabbed his hands, laid them over her breasts, effectively cutting off any other suggestion or offering of comfort he might‘ve tried to make. “Here, you probably know my boobs almost as well as I do--See? Feel!” She hissed and winced in pain as she pressed too hard, and relaxed her grip. “Gently. See?! It‘s insane!”
His eyebrows went up, but with an admirable display of self-control, he carefully cradled the notably heavier and fuller mounds of flesh in his hands, smoothing his thumb over her skin in what was meant to be a soothing gesture. “Yes, love…I know.”
“They hurt,” she insisted. “They hurt and they‘re not even done yet. I don‘t know what I‘m gonna do, it‘s awful.”
The look on her face made it quite clear that it was not in his best interests to disagree with her or say that he found her assets to be as lovely as ever. He‘d been understanding, he thought, so far. She was exhausted, she was sick, she was moody and she was scared. They were both scared, even if the fear manifested in very different ways. Sex had not been high on her priority list as of late, and that was fine. He had been sensitive to her condition and certainly hadn’t complained, even when she made sheepish quips, or downright tearful apologies. He would continue to be understanding now.
He would just have to take a nice, long shower once he’d calmed her down. His hand would do just fine until…until.
He caressed her skin again, gentle, careful. “I’m sorry, love.”
She inhaled sharply, and he would’ve pulled his hands away if hers hadn’t still been covering them. “Did I--I didn‘t mean to hurt--”
“No.” She closed her eyes and hummed softly in…what sounded suspiciously like arousal. “No--no, it didn’t hurt, it--mmmm.”
He bit his lower lip, studying her, contemplating…then leaned in and brushed a kiss over her cheek, down her neck. “I see.” His hands moved, still careful, still gentle, so that the pads of his thumbs could trace the circles of her nipples. “And that?”
“Oh Jesus--opposite.” The hypersensitive skin tightened under his touch almost immediately; she tipped her head back and moved her hands away from his to thread her fingers through his hair. “Opposite of hurting. ”
“I am happy to hear it.” He made a noise of approval as she tugged him with her to the bed, down to the mattress. She tasted of lip gloss and toothpaste when they kissed, artificial sweetness and mint, and then like nothing, just being kissed, just her. He was careful to keep his weight off of her, to avoid pressing down on her where she was sore and tender--and ‘careful’, that was new. Neither of them had any use for caution, usually.
Her breath caught when his mouth teased over her nipple, and he stilled, lifted his head, fearing he’d hurt her. “No--God, again--don‘t stop--” she panted, arching under him to emphasis the plea. He knew her well, knew her body, knew where and how to touch to make her mewl and beg, and while it was certainly an erogenous zone she enjoyed the stimulation of, she’d most definitely never pleaded and whimpered like that before. Intrigued, he continued the careful, gentle ministrations with lips and tongue and faint, faint scrapes of teeth, and slid his hand down between her thighs when her hips began to rock against him, wantonly begging for friction and attention there as well. A firmer touch, here, first over the fabric of her panties, then slipping beneath, fingertips dipping down into her wetness before circling her clit. He’d scarcely touched her before she tensed, the clear precursor of release, and wriggled away from his hand, tugging insistently at his belt to divest him of his clothing. He watched her, almost calculating, ran the fingers of one hand through her still-damp hair, then tightened just slightly to encourage her to tip her head back, to look up at him. She did, with a smile full of heat and promise, a smile which vanished when he swiped his fingertip, slick with the moisture of her sex, over her lower lip. Her eyes went wide with confusion and surprise, but he held her gently, fingers in her hair, cradling her chin. “It’s all right, love…I want to taste you,” he murmured soothingly, and kissed her, sweeping his tongue over her lip, sucking gently to capture that taste, to share it with her. She stilled, momentarily uncertain, then groaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in, returning the kiss heatedly as he kicked his pants and boxers away.
She moved with him eagerly when he rolled over and tugged her atop him--though for once, more because he didn’t want to hurt her than a preference of position. He groaned as she sank down, slick and hot around him. Now he could feel her reactions to the touch of his fingers and mouth on the hard, sensitive peaks of her breasts, feel her clench and tighten around his cock as well as watch her writhe and hear her moan. He slid his hand from her hip to tease over her again, his gaze locked on her face as she came undone. It didn’t take long at all for her to reach that peak, and he felt no shame in tumbling off of it right after her.
They lay side by side after feeling and function returned to their bodies, facing one another, limbs tangled, fingers entwined. “Mkay…so it‘s not completely awful,” she quipped drowsily, sighing happily as he tugged her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “There’s one…not awful thing. Mmm.”
His mouth curved into a smirk against her skin. “Just the one thing?”
“For now…ask me again in six weeks.” She yawned and nestled into the pillows. “Mmm. Was gonna do something today. Was getting ready before I got…sidetracked. Can‘t remember what it was…”
He tucked the blankets up around her shoulders, caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers as she began to drift off. “I’m certain you’ll remember it, if it was important.”
“Mmmhmm.” She shifted to tuck one arm under her head, wrapped the other around his waist, opening her eyes briefly to meet his with a dozy smile. “I’ve missed you.”
Her meaning wasn’t difficult to ascertain, and he hesitated for a moment, afraid that if he agreed, it would sound suspiciously like a complaint. “I’ve missed you as well,” he finally admitted, honestly, but leaned in to kiss her softly, anticipating her reply. “Don’t apologize, love…I understand.”
“Mmm.” She smiled again, and they drifted into a peaceful, sated silence together, side by side.
For about five minutes, until she sat bolt upright in bed and cursed in rapid, panicked Spanish. “What the hell am I gonna do about the bras?!”
elementof_risk at their request; any mistakes are mine and mine alone. This is set earlier in Baileigh's pregnancy, probably at about seven or eight weeks. :)"Sex alleviates tension. Love causes it."
Satin and underwire might not make much noise being thrown across the room, but the sound of feet stomping angrily across the floor was more than enough to alert those downstairs that all was not right in the upstairs bedroom. Sark found Baileigh sitting on the edge of the bed, the room slightly humid and scented with the steam and soap and perfume combination of a fresh shower. Her hair was damp, makeup freshly applied, her skin glowing and clean--and she was clothed in nothing but her underwear, clutching a blouse to her chest and glaring at a pile of bras across the room, a myriad of colors and lace. She looked as though each piece had done her a great, personal wrong, as though she were about to cry. “Love?”
“They don’t fit anymore.”
“Ah.“ He was not, of course, going to pretend he hadn’t noticed or that he didn’t know precisely what she meant, and cautiously reached out to skim his fingers through her hair. “All right…purchase a new selection. Comprised of articles that do fit.”
“How? It hurts to even try to put one on, I can’t go bra shopping with no bra on! I order them online and they take forever to get here and what, I just can‘t go out in public until then? And then what if I ordered wrong, what if they don‘t fit?!” She rubbed the corners of her eyes, then stood suddenly and grabbed his hands, laid them over her breasts, effectively cutting off any other suggestion or offering of comfort he might‘ve tried to make. “Here, you probably know my boobs almost as well as I do--See? Feel!” She hissed and winced in pain as she pressed too hard, and relaxed her grip. “Gently. See?! It‘s insane!”
His eyebrows went up, but with an admirable display of self-control, he carefully cradled the notably heavier and fuller mounds of flesh in his hands, smoothing his thumb over her skin in what was meant to be a soothing gesture. “Yes, love…I know.”
“They hurt,” she insisted. “They hurt and they‘re not even done yet. I don‘t know what I‘m gonna do, it‘s awful.”
The look on her face made it quite clear that it was not in his best interests to disagree with her or say that he found her assets to be as lovely as ever. He‘d been understanding, he thought, so far. She was exhausted, she was sick, she was moody and she was scared. They were both scared, even if the fear manifested in very different ways. Sex had not been high on her priority list as of late, and that was fine. He had been sensitive to her condition and certainly hadn’t complained, even when she made sheepish quips, or downright tearful apologies. He would continue to be understanding now.
He would just have to take a nice, long shower once he’d calmed her down. His hand would do just fine until…until.
He caressed her skin again, gentle, careful. “I’m sorry, love.”
She inhaled sharply, and he would’ve pulled his hands away if hers hadn’t still been covering them. “Did I--I didn‘t mean to hurt--”
“No.” She closed her eyes and hummed softly in…what sounded suspiciously like arousal. “No--no, it didn’t hurt, it--mmmm.”
He bit his lower lip, studying her, contemplating…then leaned in and brushed a kiss over her cheek, down her neck. “I see.” His hands moved, still careful, still gentle, so that the pads of his thumbs could trace the circles of her nipples. “And that?”
“Oh Jesus--opposite.” The hypersensitive skin tightened under his touch almost immediately; she tipped her head back and moved her hands away from his to thread her fingers through his hair. “Opposite of hurting. ”
“I am happy to hear it.” He made a noise of approval as she tugged him with her to the bed, down to the mattress. She tasted of lip gloss and toothpaste when they kissed, artificial sweetness and mint, and then like nothing, just being kissed, just her. He was careful to keep his weight off of her, to avoid pressing down on her where she was sore and tender--and ‘careful’, that was new. Neither of them had any use for caution, usually.
Her breath caught when his mouth teased over her nipple, and he stilled, lifted his head, fearing he’d hurt her. “No--God, again--don‘t stop--” she panted, arching under him to emphasis the plea. He knew her well, knew her body, knew where and how to touch to make her mewl and beg, and while it was certainly an erogenous zone she enjoyed the stimulation of, she’d most definitely never pleaded and whimpered like that before. Intrigued, he continued the careful, gentle ministrations with lips and tongue and faint, faint scrapes of teeth, and slid his hand down between her thighs when her hips began to rock against him, wantonly begging for friction and attention there as well. A firmer touch, here, first over the fabric of her panties, then slipping beneath, fingertips dipping down into her wetness before circling her clit. He’d scarcely touched her before she tensed, the clear precursor of release, and wriggled away from his hand, tugging insistently at his belt to divest him of his clothing. He watched her, almost calculating, ran the fingers of one hand through her still-damp hair, then tightened just slightly to encourage her to tip her head back, to look up at him. She did, with a smile full of heat and promise, a smile which vanished when he swiped his fingertip, slick with the moisture of her sex, over her lower lip. Her eyes went wide with confusion and surprise, but he held her gently, fingers in her hair, cradling her chin. “It’s all right, love…I want to taste you,” he murmured soothingly, and kissed her, sweeping his tongue over her lip, sucking gently to capture that taste, to share it with her. She stilled, momentarily uncertain, then groaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in, returning the kiss heatedly as he kicked his pants and boxers away.
She moved with him eagerly when he rolled over and tugged her atop him--though for once, more because he didn’t want to hurt her than a preference of position. He groaned as she sank down, slick and hot around him. Now he could feel her reactions to the touch of his fingers and mouth on the hard, sensitive peaks of her breasts, feel her clench and tighten around his cock as well as watch her writhe and hear her moan. He slid his hand from her hip to tease over her again, his gaze locked on her face as she came undone. It didn’t take long at all for her to reach that peak, and he felt no shame in tumbling off of it right after her.
They lay side by side after feeling and function returned to their bodies, facing one another, limbs tangled, fingers entwined. “Mkay…so it‘s not completely awful,” she quipped drowsily, sighing happily as he tugged her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “There’s one…not awful thing. Mmm.”
His mouth curved into a smirk against her skin. “Just the one thing?”
“For now…ask me again in six weeks.” She yawned and nestled into the pillows. “Mmm. Was gonna do something today. Was getting ready before I got…sidetracked. Can‘t remember what it was…”
He tucked the blankets up around her shoulders, caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers as she began to drift off. “I’m certain you’ll remember it, if it was important.”
“Mmmhmm.” She shifted to tuck one arm under her head, wrapped the other around his waist, opening her eyes briefly to meet his with a dozy smile. “I’ve missed you.”
Her meaning wasn’t difficult to ascertain, and he hesitated for a moment, afraid that if he agreed, it would sound suspiciously like a complaint. “I’ve missed you as well,” he finally admitted, honestly, but leaned in to kiss her softly, anticipating her reply. “Don’t apologize, love…I understand.”
“Mmm.” She smiled again, and they drifted into a peaceful, sated silence together, side by side.
For about five minutes, until she sat bolt upright in bed and cursed in rapid, panicked Spanish. “What the hell am I gonna do about the bras?!”
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Date: 2009-04-06 04:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-06 05:08 pm (UTC)