impossible things before breakfast
Mar. 24th, 2013 11:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kinglearisstupidUM THIS IS DIRTY PREGNANCY PORN I WROTE FOR AMICHEVOLE BECAUSE SHE MADE ME.
The weirdest thing about pregnancy, Emily thinks --- which says a lot, because almost everything about pregnancy is completely fucking weird --- is the way she swings from feeling desperately maternal one minute to desperately horny the next. The books have warned her about her increased libido, but that's an understatement if she's ever heard one.
She's wet all the damn time.
She feels herself soaking through her underwear during an interrogation in Phoenix and excuses herself to go to the bathroom. Dave's eye catches hers on her way out and she swears he can smell it on her. She stuffs a wad of toilet paper into her panties like a character in a Judy Blume novel and heads to the nearest drugstore for a box of panty liners.
Back at the hotel, Dave holds the box in his hands and frowns. She has to resist the urge to kiss the rumple of consternation on his forehead when he asks if she's all right, has she been spotting, but there are other urges she would rather succumb to, and she assures him that she's fine by shucking off her pants and underwear. She spreads her legs to show him what he's done to her, invites him to do it again.
Afterwards, he spoons her from behind, his come sticky on her thighs, and she asks how he feels about Nathaniel for a boy.
"Really?" he murmurs into her hair, sounding all at once exhausted and sated and incredulous. "Right now you want to talk about baby names?"
"If it's a girl, Josephine," she says.
He grunts, his cock twitching between her folds. "Isabella."
*
She needs it all the time now.
She needs his mouth, his fingers, but most of all his cock. She feels antsy, her entire body literally trembling with need until he's inside her. Only then can she breathe, as if she is relieved to be finally whole again.
"Please," she begs, fisting the sheets so hard her nails dig into the palms of her hands, "please, Dave. I need it."
"I know, sweetheart," he croons as he thrusts into her again, so hard that her ears pop and her chest rattles. Her nipples are so sensitive there's a sizzling sensation of pleasure-pain as Dave wraps his mouth around one of them and tugs at it gently. She can already feel the orgasm starting to coil in the pit of her abdomen but it's not enough, not yet, she needs him to fuck her, to fill her until she can't tell where she ends and he begins.
He comes before she does. It's his release that pushes her over the edge and he rides at least three orgasms out of her until she finally gains back her senses and sort of, not really, remembers where she is. And that she's starving.
Dave sighs and presses a kiss against her shoulder. "I'll order pizza," he says, rolling his weight off her. "If I still have anything left in me."
When he starts pulling out, Emily is suddenly hit with a sense of loss so overwhelming that she cries out, "No! Not yet! Just ... stay with me for a while."
She means "stay in her" but of course she doesn't have to say it. Dave can read her between the lines like nobody else in the world can. It's one of her favorite things about him.
Besides his cock, of course.
He stays with her (stays in her) and trails kisses along the nape of her neck until she feels grounded again. He orders pizza while she takes a shower. "How does her highness feel about anchovies today?" he calls through the bathroom door.
(It's a girl, so Nathaniel is out. Emily has moved onto Charlotte but Rossi is stubbornly stuck on Isabella.)
"Not a fan," Emily yells back.
In the end, it's not the anchovies (or lack thereof) or the pepperoni or the olives that do her in. It's the glass of water she takes with her pre-natal vitamins.
Who knew a person could have an aversion to water?
*
They close the case in time for dinner but after ten days of literally chasing a killer through the backwoods of Wyoming (fine, Emily didn't do much of the chasing, but being six months pregnant has left her as exhausted as the rest of her team), none of them want to take the red eye back to Washington. Hotch orders them to stay another night at the charming bed-and-breakfast which Emily and Dave have been not-so-quietly defiling.
Morgan smirks at them every morning when he thinks they aren't looking, and Reid has opted to avoid eye contact altogether. Yesterday JJ was spreading crabapple jelly on a homemade scone when she said to Emily, "Seven."
"Seven what?" Emily asked with a mouth full of breakfast. The baby liked bacon and hash browns, but really, really hated scrambled eggs. She learned it the hard way.
"That's my record." JJ grinned. "Seven times."
Oh.
Emily felt the color rise to her cheeks, which was ridiculous, considering what she had been doing twenty minutes ago in the shower, but well. There you have it.
"Nine," she told JJ.
It had been a particularly rough night, after finding the body of a fifteen-year-old girl at the bottom of a lake, and Dave's fingers hadn't been enough. Not at all. They'd fucked and fucked and fucked that night, clinging to each other as if that could save them both, and Emily had come so many times that she didn't think she would ever stop.
JJ's eyes widened, impressed. "Wow. Nine."
Dave entered the dining room, freshly showered and groomed, and Emily felt herself getting wet all over again. Dammit. "What?" he asked when JJ stared at him.
"Nothing," JJ said, taking her coffee and leaving the room. "You go, tiger."
*
Emily wakes up with the familiar ache between her legs. Her breasts are more sore than usual this morning, and when her hand brushes against her nipple, she hisses with pain. Behind her, Dave is snoring lightly, his beard tickling her shoulder blades. It's the first time in days he has actually been deep asleep, and Emily is reluctant to wake up him.
But she needs him. Needs him so bad.
She reaches down to touch herself, but it's not the same, even if she knows just where to touch and how. Her fingers are slender and soft compared to Dave's, which are equally skilled but thicker, able to fill her more.
Trying carefully not to wake him up, she gently eases his hand between her legs, pressing the heel of his hand against her clit and rocking back and forth in an attempt to seek what she needs.
It doesn't work and her eyes tear up at the desperation of it all. She rocks harder, thumbing her nipple with her other hand, but it just leaves her frustrated and empty and it isn't until she presses her opening against his cock that she feels better, more together.
She arches back against him and feels him getting hard, it's good, it's so good, her breath hitches, god this is so fucked up, she's thinking about learning how to knit so that she can knit something for her baby and at the same time she's thinking about fucking her --- boyfriend? partner? Not husband. She'll go with partner --- so hard that her head pulses with the intensity of it all.
"You're a needy little thing, aren't you?" Dave whispers, half-awake.
"I'm sorry," she sobs, but he's got his hands on her hips and he's teasing her with his cock. "I'm sorry, I just ---"
"You got nothing to be sorry for," he tells her, and enters her in one fell swoop.
She sighs with relief as he begins thrusting at a measured pace, his fingers skimming through her pubic hair for her clit and
right there.
He's in deep now, his cock is hitting her in all the right places, and she feels so full, so safe, with his arms around him and their baby, and he's saying, "God, you're so good, Emily. You feel so good around me. Jesus Christ, I'm going to have to knock you up again. You're the best thing to happen to me."
"Yeah," she moans, moving her hips faster. It's so close she can feel it in her spine. "Yeah, I know. Love you too."
When she comes, it ripples through her like spilled paint on canvas. She feels edgeless and loose, even as her abdomen tightens through the last of her orgasm. The baby kicks like mad, but Reid's assured her that infants don't gain self-awareness until they're about a year old. The baby is only reacting to her increased heart rate. Besides, Emily is sure she and Dave would give their daughter enough to discuss with her future therapist that their sex life while she was in utero will hardly be an issue.
She gasps softly as Dave pulls out of her, but he makes up for it by easing her onto her side so that they're facing each other, the baby an unwitting third wheel between them. "Hey," he says, smiling at her. "What're you thinking?"
"I might learn to knit," she tells him. "If I knit you an ugly sweater, would you wear it?"
"For you?" He grins at her and she suddenly feels more rested than she has felt in a long time. "Anything."
The weirdest thing about pregnancy, Emily thinks --- which says a lot, because almost everything about pregnancy is completely fucking weird --- is the way she swings from feeling desperately maternal one minute to desperately horny the next. The books have warned her about her increased libido, but that's an understatement if she's ever heard one.
She's wet all the damn time.
She feels herself soaking through her underwear during an interrogation in Phoenix and excuses herself to go to the bathroom. Dave's eye catches hers on her way out and she swears he can smell it on her. She stuffs a wad of toilet paper into her panties like a character in a Judy Blume novel and heads to the nearest drugstore for a box of panty liners.
Back at the hotel, Dave holds the box in his hands and frowns. She has to resist the urge to kiss the rumple of consternation on his forehead when he asks if she's all right, has she been spotting, but there are other urges she would rather succumb to, and she assures him that she's fine by shucking off her pants and underwear. She spreads her legs to show him what he's done to her, invites him to do it again.
Afterwards, he spoons her from behind, his come sticky on her thighs, and she asks how he feels about Nathaniel for a boy.
"Really?" he murmurs into her hair, sounding all at once exhausted and sated and incredulous. "Right now you want to talk about baby names?"
"If it's a girl, Josephine," she says.
He grunts, his cock twitching between her folds. "Isabella."
*
She needs it all the time now.
She needs his mouth, his fingers, but most of all his cock. She feels antsy, her entire body literally trembling with need until he's inside her. Only then can she breathe, as if she is relieved to be finally whole again.
"Please," she begs, fisting the sheets so hard her nails dig into the palms of her hands, "please, Dave. I need it."
"I know, sweetheart," he croons as he thrusts into her again, so hard that her ears pop and her chest rattles. Her nipples are so sensitive there's a sizzling sensation of pleasure-pain as Dave wraps his mouth around one of them and tugs at it gently. She can already feel the orgasm starting to coil in the pit of her abdomen but it's not enough, not yet, she needs him to fuck her, to fill her until she can't tell where she ends and he begins.
He comes before she does. It's his release that pushes her over the edge and he rides at least three orgasms out of her until she finally gains back her senses and sort of, not really, remembers where she is. And that she's starving.
Dave sighs and presses a kiss against her shoulder. "I'll order pizza," he says, rolling his weight off her. "If I still have anything left in me."
When he starts pulling out, Emily is suddenly hit with a sense of loss so overwhelming that she cries out, "No! Not yet! Just ... stay with me for a while."
She means "stay in her" but of course she doesn't have to say it. Dave can read her between the lines like nobody else in the world can. It's one of her favorite things about him.
Besides his cock, of course.
He stays with her (stays in her) and trails kisses along the nape of her neck until she feels grounded again. He orders pizza while she takes a shower. "How does her highness feel about anchovies today?" he calls through the bathroom door.
(It's a girl, so Nathaniel is out. Emily has moved onto Charlotte but Rossi is stubbornly stuck on Isabella.)
"Not a fan," Emily yells back.
In the end, it's not the anchovies (or lack thereof) or the pepperoni or the olives that do her in. It's the glass of water she takes with her pre-natal vitamins.
Who knew a person could have an aversion to water?
*
They close the case in time for dinner but after ten days of literally chasing a killer through the backwoods of Wyoming (fine, Emily didn't do much of the chasing, but being six months pregnant has left her as exhausted as the rest of her team), none of them want to take the red eye back to Washington. Hotch orders them to stay another night at the charming bed-and-breakfast which Emily and Dave have been not-so-quietly defiling.
Morgan smirks at them every morning when he thinks they aren't looking, and Reid has opted to avoid eye contact altogether. Yesterday JJ was spreading crabapple jelly on a homemade scone when she said to Emily, "Seven."
"Seven what?" Emily asked with a mouth full of breakfast. The baby liked bacon and hash browns, but really, really hated scrambled eggs. She learned it the hard way.
"That's my record." JJ grinned. "Seven times."
Oh.
Emily felt the color rise to her cheeks, which was ridiculous, considering what she had been doing twenty minutes ago in the shower, but well. There you have it.
"Nine," she told JJ.
It had been a particularly rough night, after finding the body of a fifteen-year-old girl at the bottom of a lake, and Dave's fingers hadn't been enough. Not at all. They'd fucked and fucked and fucked that night, clinging to each other as if that could save them both, and Emily had come so many times that she didn't think she would ever stop.
JJ's eyes widened, impressed. "Wow. Nine."
Dave entered the dining room, freshly showered and groomed, and Emily felt herself getting wet all over again. Dammit. "What?" he asked when JJ stared at him.
"Nothing," JJ said, taking her coffee and leaving the room. "You go, tiger."
*
Emily wakes up with the familiar ache between her legs. Her breasts are more sore than usual this morning, and when her hand brushes against her nipple, she hisses with pain. Behind her, Dave is snoring lightly, his beard tickling her shoulder blades. It's the first time in days he has actually been deep asleep, and Emily is reluctant to wake up him.
But she needs him. Needs him so bad.
She reaches down to touch herself, but it's not the same, even if she knows just where to touch and how. Her fingers are slender and soft compared to Dave's, which are equally skilled but thicker, able to fill her more.
Trying carefully not to wake him up, she gently eases his hand between her legs, pressing the heel of his hand against her clit and rocking back and forth in an attempt to seek what she needs.
It doesn't work and her eyes tear up at the desperation of it all. She rocks harder, thumbing her nipple with her other hand, but it just leaves her frustrated and empty and it isn't until she presses her opening against his cock that she feels better, more together.
She arches back against him and feels him getting hard, it's good, it's so good, her breath hitches, god this is so fucked up, she's thinking about learning how to knit so that she can knit something for her baby and at the same time she's thinking about fucking her --- boyfriend? partner? Not husband. She'll go with partner --- so hard that her head pulses with the intensity of it all.
"You're a needy little thing, aren't you?" Dave whispers, half-awake.
"I'm sorry," she sobs, but he's got his hands on her hips and he's teasing her with his cock. "I'm sorry, I just ---"
"You got nothing to be sorry for," he tells her, and enters her in one fell swoop.
She sighs with relief as he begins thrusting at a measured pace, his fingers skimming through her pubic hair for her clit and
right there.
He's in deep now, his cock is hitting her in all the right places, and she feels so full, so safe, with his arms around him and their baby, and he's saying, "God, you're so good, Emily. You feel so good around me. Jesus Christ, I'm going to have to knock you up again. You're the best thing to happen to me."
"Yeah," she moans, moving her hips faster. It's so close she can feel it in her spine. "Yeah, I know. Love you too."
When she comes, it ripples through her like spilled paint on canvas. She feels edgeless and loose, even as her abdomen tightens through the last of her orgasm. The baby kicks like mad, but Reid's assured her that infants don't gain self-awareness until they're about a year old. The baby is only reacting to her increased heart rate. Besides, Emily is sure she and Dave would give their daughter enough to discuss with her future therapist that their sex life while she was in utero will hardly be an issue.
She gasps softly as Dave pulls out of her, but he makes up for it by easing her onto her side so that they're facing each other, the baby an unwitting third wheel between them. "Hey," he says, smiling at her. "What're you thinking?"
"I might learn to knit," she tells him. "If I knit you an ugly sweater, would you wear it?"
"For you?" He grins at her and she suddenly feels more rested than she has felt in a long time. "Anything."
