[ It's futile to muffle the cries that are bound to come from her lips -- she's quiet for now, breathless as he sucks away at her nipple and her fingers work into herself, curling into her front wall. He's taught her how to touch herself better -- trained her, too, it feels like. To need his cock.
Like now.
Unrestrained, she fumbles with her other hand to free his erection. His belt is undone already, thanks to previous happenings and happy endings, so she can bypass that altogether to shove his trousers and boxers down his hips. She sacrifices her fingers in her cunt to stroke him with purpose, quick and a little rough. ]
[Although he perpetually feels like a sick fuck for molding her somewhat, he can also take solace in the fact that her desires are her own. When she whines for him and craves him, it means he gives her what she really likes. Which is excellent, since he's wanted nothing but her from the moment his tongue tasted her lips. Since he sunk his cock in her perfect, tight cunt and broke her in without realising.
He doesn't generally take pleasure in being withholding, but he does very much enjoy the combination of sucking on her breasts while she pleads for him. He hums around her skin, sucking more of her into his mouth. His tongue flicks over her nipple, pleasing himself with the thought of draining milk from her properly. He can imagine how good she'd taste.
Still, he's not unhelpful. His hips twist to help her free him, rocking against her hand. He presses himself firmly against her.]
Take it. [He murmurs, unlatching from one breast only so he can give the other one equal treatment.]
[ Slower than he is at this, her hips tilt to ease him into her rather than taking him all at once. Fed into her cunt until he's sheathed, her leg hooking around his.
Her throat works, and so does she, rolling her hips. This way, it's achingly slow and drawn out. He's distracted, she realizes. Suckling away at her nipple until they're sore. She pictures how swollen she'll be in time, heavy with his child. How her breasts will nourish.
She wonders if it is perverse to be aroused by that. ]
Daddy... [ Sweat is starting to wick at her brow. She realizes when it escapes her mouth that the word is no longer simply a fetish, but a promise: she's made him a father again. Her womb has created life for him. She rocks beneath him, quickening their movements, feral by that revelation. ]
[If it's perverse, they're both perverts (which seems likely). There is no greater thrill for a man like him to claim ownership of a woman like her. No better way to express it than filling her with parts of him. He knows damn well when she starts to show, he'll feel extremely proud. Not just of what his cock has achieved, but of himself for permanently tethering them and of her for what her body will do for them both. He is truly, truly excited for the little life they've created together. Filled with renewed purpose when he thinks about doting on her.
Presently, though, he's truly excited about the way she's fucking his cock like she's possessed. God, he's so fucking in love with her. In love with the way that word sounds coming from her.
Carefully, he pulls back from her breasts and stills her. He handles her with tremendous care as he rolls onto his back and guides her to sit on him. This way it's easier to run his rough palms up her thighs. He rests his hands on her belly, warm against her skin.
He smiles broadly up at her, admiring the way her wet, taut nipples look in the moonlight.]
Mommy.
[The twang in his accent really sings in that one word.]
[ Who could have known that a woman from a family of ten would have such an intense breeding kink? Not her.
She certainly hadn't known it of herself until he permanently awakened it in the back of a pick up truck.
Francesca straddles him on her knees, her hair wild, dress bunched at her waist. Something visibly changes in her when he calls her by that. A title she's only ever dreamt of hearing. A title to match his own.
A wicked idea lights in her brain. She shifts forward to balance herself on his shoulders, breasts swinging in front of his mouth. ]
Suck.
[ That's an order. Delivered softly, but without hesitation. The relatively new position has emboldened her. She hasn't dabbled much in trying to assume any control or topping; she prefers to be told what to do by her husband, to be fucked good and well and praised that she is making her daddy happy being a good slut for him. It's new for both of them. ]
[The fact that she's normally so submissive makes the shift in behaviour notable. It stills Nate for a moment, as if he needs a moment to make sure she's serious. He gets a wild, hungry look in his eyes when it dawns on him that she absolutely means it.
His lips part, leaning in so her nipple drags over them. He flicks his tongue over the one he's chosen, taking it in his mouth and sucking hard in it. He still has the wild look in his eyes when he does, sucking while staring intently up at her.
His hands rub her stomach affectionately, humming around her breast before his eyes finally fall shut. So aroused it almost hurts, which makes it feel all the sweeter for him.]
[ She stares back at him until it's impossible to remain doing so, eyes clamping shut. Her breasts are so tender, his hot mouth on them is both salve and flame.
Dripping on his stomach, she reaches behind her for his cock, the tip weeping. Guides him into her; she's so wet he slips and she has to try again to fit him home inside her, channel greedily fluttering at reentry.
Astride, bent over him, she begins to fuck herself on him. ]
[The wet heat from her cunt on his stomach drives him crazy and, as if anticipating her moves, his hips roll up hungrily. His cock is seeking contact, twitching against her hand.
He grunts softly around her when he slips against her, then groans in the back of his throat as she sinks over him. He might as well be made for her cunt, she squeezes so perfectly around him.
Nate's heels dig into the mattress when she starts to move, dragging his lips back so he can focus around her nipple. One hand leaves her stomach, taking her breast in hand and squeezing it against her chest. He pinches the nipple, positioning it so he can move from one breast to the other.
His eyes flick back up to her, full of heat and complete and utter devotion.]
[ Her mouth gapes ajar with the way he fills her. She knows now she's a lucky girl in this department. Spoilt by him.
And she needs him. She always wants him, the wanting never stops. But right now it feels like she has to claim him. Be claimed in return.
She channels that burning need into the rise and fall of her hips: fast and steady. It's harder than she anticipated; she can only slide a certain distance down the length of him without threatening to detach his mouth from her nipple. Quickly, she works on a resolution, urging him to sit up so she can sit in his lap and hold onto his upper arms. Easier for her to ride him. ]
[Aware of his size, Nate is always very impressed by the ferocity with which Francesca rides him. The fact that she takes him so well is a treat, far from when she winced on their first night.
He understands easily when she shifts him and he moves under her, his hands shift to ghost over her slim hips. Humming over her nipple so it reverberates over her skin, he presses his face firmer against her. He unlatches, pressing his face between both breasts, kissing and sucking the flesh.]
Come on baby girl-- there she goes. [He murmurs softly and encouragingly, grabbing a handful of her asscheek and squeezing firmly.]
Bouncing like you want another one in you. Gonna make me keep you pregnant.
[ She whines at the dirty talk, so turned on she thinks she could faint. ]
Yes, yes -- I need to keep Daddy inside me always. Love you so much, Daddy.
[ It's a work out, talking and fucking. Sweat trickles down her breasts, jiggling as she moves, a nearly punishing rhythm for how heavy her falls are. She disrupts it to rock her hips back and forth in a new rotation, hoping to drive him crazy, then resumes with a tilt, maneuvering until his cock hits just the right spot. Her nails scratch at his arms, leaving streaks.
She knows her body, knows how to make herself come. She's using him right now for that purpose, knowing he wants it.
Needy, her arms wrap around his neck and tug him closer, into her chest. Her face plants itself at the crest of his head with the first contraction, muffling her scream into his hair. ]
[Francesca is in the driver's seat and doing significantly more work, but this is a particularly intense second session and even Nate is feeling it. Almost woozy in a good way, completely lovesick but not spent yet. He grumbles adoringly as her tits jiggle against his face, hands skimming up her as a form of tactile praise.
He curses like he's in pain when she clenches and grips him. It doesn't take long for him to follow. He grips her face through it, kissing her deeply and bucking his hips up under her.
He softly declares his love and they collapse into a pile of limbs.
As predicted, the scope of the honeymoon shifts but the purpose is still fulfilled. They spend many happy days overseas, planning ahead and thinking of what they need to do when they get home. Francesca feels particularly tired, dozing off more during the day and earlier at night. Nate is her go-to surface for sleeping and spends a lot of time pretending he's comfortable and staying still.
The first check-ups are promising. She seems well despite her fatigue. Nate is a little concerned when she wants to continue with school, but he understands the logic. They get into a routine of coming together and discreetly going seperate ways. It is distracting to have her in his class, knowing there's a secret both between them and growing inside her. It's hard not to fuss over her or touch her, but he manages.
She's been suffering with nausea intermittently, so he's alarmed but not terribly surprised when she asks him to come to her. It is rather a precarious request, since she wants him in the bathroom. His gut twinges, but he aims to be calm as he enters. Blessedly, it is empty aside from her stall.]
She doesn't think much of it at first; there's been on and off aches and fatigue since before the first test, later confirmed by the first wellness visit. The sonographer and doctor are in agreement everything is going as it should.
Francesca had even made the executive decision to share the news, all of it, with her mother, though that wasn't without a series of exhausting phone-calls, and promises that Violet would be coming up in a matter of weeks. ( She was quite alarmed to learn about her second to youngest daughter having eloped, and more than a little apprehensive to learn the groom was about her age. )
Everything seemed fine. Everything was. She had taken the recommended precautions, such as curbing caffeine and any drinking. Took the vitamins, the extra rest, and the nutrients that her husband was ready to force-feed into her. The nausea wasn't anywhere near a problem as the sleepiness had become. To that end, she used Nate as her preferred body pillow, her growing stomach pressed against his side. Easy to disguise with cardigans and loose blouses and dresses. Nobody any the wiser, even though her surname was quietly modified and the ring stayed on her finger.
Everything was fine. Until the ache wouldn't stop, until it relocated -- radiating from her lower abdomen, down to her uterus. She makes it to the first stall and vomits her breakfast, forcing herself to believe that is responsible and it will help.
It doesn't.
Red spots the inside of her underwear and the toilet paper. The world tilts and her hands shake as she sends the message, trying not to panic in the interim.
When he gets there, there's a weak whimper, all he'll get to bring him to her. The sight that greets him is one from a horror movie: his wife sat on the tiled floor, trying to staunch the flow of blood. ]
[In these moments, it is both a blessing and a curse to have lived the life he has. It enables him to face this with a levelhead and a calm demeanour, but it has also has entirely obliterated his ability to hope for a good outcome.
Of course, there's a world of difference between the trauma of strangers and the trauma of his incredibly precious wife. He can feel a tremble building in him that he actively pushes down.]
You're alright, Bambi.
[He keeps his voice steady, brushing his fingers over her cheek in reassurance. He wriggles out of his coat, wrapping it around her as he scoops her up off the ground.
He ghosts his lips over her temple, feeling melancholic echoes of the way they came back together in the rain. He runs her out of the bathroom, warning anyone about the mess is far from his mind. He manoeuvres her into the truck, whipping around to his side so he can rally them out of the parking lot and straight to hospital.
It's hard to keep his eyes on the road, flicking his eyes to her every so often.]
[ She doesn't have to say anything. She can't, save for whimpers and shallow moans and his name warbled out, the pain too much to stay silent, though she tries -- she doesn't know why. Maybe to save him from the emotional pain of hearing her in physical pain. Maybe because the louder she is, the more real it becomes.
That doesn't stop anything. The cramps build, coming one after the other. Her forehead alternates to rest against the dash and the cool surface of the window.
He's driving like a mad man. Maybe if he makes it -- maybe --
Eventually, she does speak. Her word, wrecked, tight with unshed tears and pain. ]
[In order to temper his reaction, Nate clenches his fingers around the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. It's hard to even process it, since the dominant side of his brain is telling him he just needs to get her to hospital.
But he picks up on the pronoun and casts a worried look to her. They're so close to hospital-- but he knows she's not look to be soothed or placated. He just nods, pausing before adding:]
It's you I'm worried about. [She's lost a lot of blood and he knows she's in tremendous pain.
They pull into the emergency parking and he scoops her up. Blessedly, they're attended to almost as soon as they're in the doors. That never happens, so it's not good.
She needs to be anaesthetised. He waits with her as long as he's allowed (and probably beyond that, to be honest). When she comes to, he's sitting at her bedside just staring ahead at the wall.]
[ She doesn't cry at the concerned, patient faces. The nurses are very kind and diligent. But she knows what they won't yet say.
Her eyes are round with fear when they help her out of her bloodied clothes and into the hospital gown, when the needle is inserted. The oxygen mask puts her out faster than the IV drip.
Waking is a struggle. Her body is weighted down, leaden from the medicine in her veins, still being processed out.
In the first few moments, there is a blissful lack of recollection. Confusion, mild discomfort in its place. Her eyes clench and open, filmy with grogginess.
She's been lain on her back, dark hair fanned out over the pillow and her shoulders. She's reluctant to move. ]
Nathan? [ Her voice is drowsy, her head turning to find him. ]
[He doesn't quite jolt, but he does snap back to reality when she rouses. He turns, scooting his chair closer toward her and smoothing his hand over her hair.]
Hi Bambi. [Softly. She's groggy, he doesn't want to jump right into things.]
We're at the hospital. You've been under anaesthetic.
[ It feels like a slow surfacing, her ears having been submerged underwater. Nathan comes in and out of focus with the rest of their environment.
Her face leans into his hand. His voice is pitched low, gentle. She feels sluggish, intoxicated, but her brain picks up on that, wondering it's purpose.
Beginning to parse things together. Her hand flutters at her side, weak. Like the hope in her chest. ]
[There's a long pause, which answers the question implicitly. His hand moves to hers, looping their fingers and squeezing softly.]
Yeah. We lost him. [We, not her. It's not her fault. There's a threadiness to his voice that is unusually vulnerable for him. He brings her fingers to his lips, holding them there.]
[The limpness of her fingers is noted. In any other situation, he'd give her space. Now? It feels important to make sure she knows she's not alone in this.
Surprisingly limber for his age, he steps out of his shoes and scoots onto the bed with her. He cradles the back of her head with his hand, inviting her to move in closer or stay as is.
His jaw tightens at the question, because he knows why she's asking and it hurts to think about. He can't make those feelings just go away.]
He wasn't developing properly.
[It was difficult to get information from the staff, who initially thought he was her father and were unconvinced of their marital status. In another situation, he might have found it funny.]
It's a game of odds, they were against us this time-- but it happens, bambi. Happens to all kinds of couples.
But they said everything was well, at the last appointment ...
[ A half-hearted whisper, almost as if she's searching for hope, for a way to deny the truth. Francesca is not in the business of placating herself with lies; she's practical to a fault, and it has always served her to be so, until this moment.
Broken, she meets his eyes finally, and that's when she crumples, the tears running hot down her cheeks. ]
[There's nothing Nate can say to make this better. Nothing makes it better, it's just something they'll have to endure. But he hates that for her. If he could, he'd take it on himself.
He's eager to get her home, even if there's parts of it that are difficult for both of them. Little things that remind him of their loss. He lets her sleep as much as she likes, but he makes her eat and he starts to ease her into sitting in the garden with him to get some sun.
They bury their baby in the garden, somewhere safe with a young tree planted atop the remains.
After a week, he surprises her with two highland calves. It's something they'd discussed and he feels like she could use the joy and the focus. It's the first time he's seen her smile since that day, which makes him hopeful for her.
Unsurprisingly, there are physical and mental barriers around sex that he's respectful of. He wants to be lead by her, so there's been one or two times in 3 weeks where he's engaged her with his fingers or his mouth, but she struggles to finish. It's certainly a change of pace, going from the kind of sex life they had before to this period. He understands it to be temporary, but he still needs to relieve himself when he gets a moment.
It becomes tricky not to be amorous when she comes out of her shell more. He's so in love with her and every part of him aches for her all the time. Every brush against him makes him eager, but he's still allowing her to lead.
On a pleasant afternoon after spending some time in the garden, Francesca bends to look at a flower. Her dress hitches and the curve of her ass is visible. His hand moves instinctively to grab a handful of her backside, squeezing firmly and suggestively. Although at some point he realises he's being forward, he lets his hand linger. Just to see how she reacts.]
[ This loss feels insurmountable. Her experience with grief is slim, the one exception being her father, and she'd been all of six at the time of his abrupt demise. A horrible loss, a void that haunted her family and much of her life, but softened by time and childhood.
This one is her baby, their baby. Initially, she cries for days, and self-medicates to sleep the rest of the time. She doesn't want to be awake. Her thoughts turn dark, and though she's not actively suicidal, there's a part of her that doesn't want to live -- that feels a part of her died in that hospital room.
They bury him together. It helps. As do the calves, the sweet things. They follow her around like small children, demanding her almost undivided attention. She names them Federico (Fred) and Cat, rather cleverly she thinks, after the characters in A Farewell to Arms.
Guiltily, much of her attention is devoted to the calves when it was once focused on her husband. It's mostly not on purpose, but intimacy has turned into an issue since the miscarriage. More than once kissing becomes heavy petting becomes fingering, but her cunt goes dry and loses interest both times.
Her libido had become close to nonexistent. Her doctor tells her it's normal. They had been advised, too, to not have penetrative sex for a few weeks while she healed. She just hasn't been interested in sex. Or almost anything.
His hand on her ass, though. Bending down to trim rosemary, Fran stills, now quite unused to her husband fondling her since the miscarriage -- but mostly unsure how to respond. She's frozen like a doe caught in headlights, really, and looks back at him with big eyes. Her stomach clenches, but she tries to be playful. ]
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sundown2025-04-27 08:43 pm
no subject
Like now.
Unrestrained, she fumbles with her other hand to free his erection. His belt is undone already, thanks to previous happenings and happy endings, so she can bypass that altogether to shove his trousers and boxers down his hips. She sacrifices her fingers in her cunt to stroke him with purpose, quick and a little rough. ]
Need you.
no subject
He doesn't generally take pleasure in being withholding, but he does very much enjoy the combination of sucking on her breasts while she pleads for him. He hums around her skin, sucking more of her into his mouth. His tongue flicks over her nipple, pleasing himself with the thought of draining milk from her properly. He can imagine how good she'd taste.
Still, he's not unhelpful. His hips twist to help her free him, rocking against her hand. He presses himself firmly against her.]
Take it. [He murmurs, unlatching from one breast only so he can give the other one equal treatment.]
no subject
Her throat works, and so does she, rolling her hips. This way, it's achingly slow and drawn out. He's distracted, she realizes. Suckling away at her nipple until they're sore. She pictures how swollen she'll be in time, heavy with his child. How her breasts will nourish.
She wonders if it is perverse to be aroused by that. ]
Daddy... [ Sweat is starting to wick at her brow. She realizes when it escapes her mouth that the word is no longer simply a fetish, but a promise: she's made him a father again. Her womb has created life for him. She rocks beneath him, quickening their movements, feral by that revelation. ]
no subject
Presently, though, he's truly excited about the way she's fucking his cock like she's possessed. God, he's so fucking in love with her. In love with the way that word sounds coming from her.
Carefully, he pulls back from her breasts and stills her. He handles her with tremendous care as he rolls onto his back and guides her to sit on him. This way it's easier to run his rough palms up her thighs. He rests his hands on her belly, warm against her skin.
He smiles broadly up at her, admiring the way her wet, taut nipples look in the moonlight.]
Mommy.
[The twang in his accent really sings in that one word.]
no subject
Not her.She certainly hadn't known it of herself until he permanently awakened it in the back of a pick up truck.
Francesca straddles him on her knees, her hair wild, dress bunched at her waist. Something visibly changes in her when he calls her by that. A title she's only ever dreamt of hearing. A title to match his own.
A wicked idea lights in her brain. She shifts forward to balance herself on his shoulders, breasts swinging in front of his mouth. ]
Suck.
[ That's an order. Delivered softly, but without hesitation. The relatively new position has emboldened her. She hasn't dabbled much in trying to assume any control or topping; she prefers to be told what to do by her husband, to be fucked good and well and praised that she is making her daddy happy being a good slut for him. It's new for both of them. ]
For mommy?
no subject
His lips part, leaning in so her nipple drags over them. He flicks his tongue over the one he's chosen, taking it in his mouth and sucking hard in it. He still has the wild look in his eyes when he does, sucking while staring intently up at her.
His hands rub her stomach affectionately, humming around her breast before his eyes finally fall shut. So aroused it almost hurts, which makes it feel all the sweeter for him.]
no subject
Dripping on his stomach, she reaches behind her for his cock, the tip weeping. Guides him into her; she's so wet he slips and she has to try again to fit him home inside her, channel greedily fluttering at reentry.
Astride, bent over him, she begins to fuck herself on him. ]
no subject
He grunts softly around her when he slips against her, then groans in the back of his throat as she sinks over him. He might as well be made for her cunt, she squeezes so perfectly around him.
Nate's heels dig into the mattress when she starts to move, dragging his lips back so he can focus around her nipple. One hand leaves her stomach, taking her breast in hand and squeezing it against her chest. He pinches the nipple, positioning it so he can move from one breast to the other.
His eyes flick back up to her, full of heat and complete and utter devotion.]
no subject
And she needs him. She always wants him, the wanting never stops. But right now it feels like she has to claim him. Be claimed in return.
She channels that burning need into the rise and fall of her hips: fast and steady. It's harder than she anticipated; she can only slide a certain distance down the length of him without threatening to detach his mouth from her nipple. Quickly, she works on a resolution, urging him to sit up so she can sit in his lap and hold onto his upper arms. Easier for her to ride him. ]
no subject
He understands easily when she shifts him and he moves under her, his hands shift to ghost over her slim hips. Humming over her nipple so it reverberates over her skin, he presses his face firmer against her. He unlatches, pressing his face between both breasts, kissing and sucking the flesh.]
Come on baby girl-- there she goes. [He murmurs softly and encouragingly, grabbing a handful of her asscheek and squeezing firmly.]
Bouncing like you want another one in you. Gonna make me keep you pregnant.
no subject
Yes, yes -- I need to keep Daddy inside me always. Love you so much, Daddy.
[ It's a work out, talking and fucking. Sweat trickles down her breasts, jiggling as she moves, a nearly punishing rhythm for how heavy her falls are. She disrupts it to rock her hips back and forth in a new rotation, hoping to drive him crazy, then resumes with a tilt, maneuvering until his cock hits just the right spot. Her nails scratch at his arms, leaving streaks.
She knows her body, knows how to make herself come. She's using him right now for that purpose, knowing he wants it.
Needy, her arms wrap around his neck and tug him closer, into her chest. Her face plants itself at the crest of his head with the first contraction, muffling her scream into his hair. ]
no subject
He curses like he's in pain when she clenches and grips him. It doesn't take long for him to follow. He grips her face through it, kissing her deeply and bucking his hips up under her.
He softly declares his love and they collapse into a pile of limbs.
As predicted, the scope of the honeymoon shifts but the purpose is still fulfilled. They spend many happy days overseas, planning ahead and thinking of what they need to do when they get home. Francesca feels particularly tired, dozing off more during the day and earlier at night. Nate is her go-to surface for sleeping and spends a lot of time pretending he's comfortable and staying still.
The first check-ups are promising. She seems well despite her fatigue. Nate is a little concerned when she wants to continue with school, but he understands the logic. They get into a routine of coming together and discreetly going seperate ways. It is distracting to have her in his class, knowing there's a secret both between them and growing inside her. It's hard not to fuss over her or touch her, but he manages.
She's been suffering with nausea intermittently, so he's alarmed but not terribly surprised when she asks him to come to her. It is rather a precarious request, since she wants him in the bathroom. His gut twinges, but he aims to be calm as he enters. Blessedly, it is empty aside from her stall.]
Is that you in there?
[If it's not, this will be hard to explain.]
no subject
She doesn't think much of it at first; there's been on and off aches and fatigue since before the first test, later confirmed by the first wellness visit. The sonographer and doctor are in agreement everything is going as it should.
Francesca had even made the executive decision to share the news, all of it, with her mother, though that wasn't without a series of exhausting phone-calls, and promises that Violet would be coming up in a matter of weeks. ( She was quite alarmed to learn about her second to youngest daughter having eloped, and more than a little apprehensive to learn the groom was about her age. )
Everything seemed fine. Everything was. She had taken the recommended precautions, such as curbing caffeine and any drinking. Took the vitamins, the extra rest, and the nutrients that her husband was ready to force-feed into her. The nausea wasn't anywhere near a problem as the sleepiness had become. To that end, she used Nate as her preferred body pillow, her growing stomach pressed against his side. Easy to disguise with cardigans and loose blouses and dresses. Nobody any the wiser, even though her surname was quietly modified and the ring stayed on her finger.
Everything was fine. Until the ache wouldn't stop, until it relocated -- radiating from her lower abdomen, down to her uterus. She makes it to the first stall and vomits her breakfast, forcing herself to believe that is responsible and it will help.
It doesn't.
Red spots the inside of her underwear and the toilet paper. The world tilts and her hands shake as she sends the message, trying not to panic in the interim.
When he gets there, there's a weak whimper, all he'll get to bring him to her. The sight that greets him is one from a horror movie: his wife sat on the tiled floor, trying to staunch the flow of blood. ]
no subject
Of course, there's a world of difference between the trauma of strangers and the trauma of his incredibly precious wife. He can feel a tremble building in him that he actively pushes down.]
You're alright, Bambi.
[He keeps his voice steady, brushing his fingers over her cheek in reassurance. He wriggles out of his coat, wrapping it around her as he scoops her up off the ground.
He ghosts his lips over her temple, feeling melancholic echoes of the way they came back together in the rain. He runs her out of the bathroom, warning anyone about the mess is far from his mind. He manoeuvres her into the truck, whipping around to his side so he can rally them out of the parking lot and straight to hospital.
It's hard to keep his eyes on the road, flicking his eyes to her every so often.]
Deep breaths, bambi.
no subject
That doesn't stop anything. The cramps build, coming one after the other. Her forehead alternates to rest against the dash and the cool surface of the window.
He's driving like a mad man. Maybe if he makes it -- maybe --
Eventually, she does speak. Her word, wrecked, tight with unshed tears and pain. ]
He's already gone. The baby is gone.
no subject
But he picks up on the pronoun and casts a worried look to her. They're so close to hospital-- but he knows she's not look to be soothed or placated. He just nods, pausing before adding:]
It's you I'm worried about. [She's lost a lot of blood and he knows she's in tremendous pain.
They pull into the emergency parking and he scoops her up. Blessedly, they're attended to almost as soon as they're in the doors. That never happens, so it's not good.
She needs to be anaesthetised. He waits with her as long as he's allowed (and probably beyond that, to be honest). When she comes to, he's sitting at her bedside just staring ahead at the wall.]
no subject
Her eyes are round with fear when they help her out of her bloodied clothes and into the hospital gown, when the needle is inserted. The oxygen mask puts her out faster than the IV drip.
Waking is a struggle. Her body is weighted down, leaden from the medicine in her veins, still being processed out.
In the first few moments, there is a blissful lack of recollection. Confusion, mild discomfort in its place. Her eyes clench and open, filmy with grogginess.
She's been lain on her back, dark hair fanned out over the pillow and her shoulders. She's reluctant to move. ]
Nathan? [ Her voice is drowsy, her head turning to find him. ]
no subject
Hi Bambi. [Softly. She's groggy, he doesn't want to jump right into things.]
We're at the hospital. You've been under anaesthetic.
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[ It feels like a slow surfacing, her ears having been submerged underwater. Nathan comes in and out of focus with the rest of their environment.
Her face leans into his hand. His voice is pitched low, gentle. She feels sluggish, intoxicated, but her brain picks up on that, wondering it's purpose.
Beginning to parse things together. Her hand flutters at her side, weak. Like the hope in her chest. ]
Did I miscarry the baby?
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Yeah. We lost him. [We, not her. It's not her fault. There's a threadiness to his voice that is unusually vulnerable for him. He brings her fingers to his lips, holding them there.]
I'm so sorry, Bambi.
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She knew, but now she feels it inside her. Her womb, emptied and hollowed out, a conspicuous absence of life. Her hand moves to drape over her belly.
Her mouth twitches, eyes strangely dry despite the cinch of her throat. After a moments, she nods, her eyes unfocused, her fingers limp in his hand. ]
Do they know why?
[ Was it me? It was me. ]
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Surprisingly limber for his age, he steps out of his shoes and scoots onto the bed with her. He cradles the back of her head with his hand, inviting her to move in closer or stay as is.
His jaw tightens at the question, because he knows why she's asking and it hurts to think about. He can't make those feelings just go away.]
He wasn't developing properly.
[It was difficult to get information from the staff, who initially thought he was her father and were unconvinced of their marital status. In another situation, he might have found it funny.]
It's a game of odds, they were against us this time-- but it happens, bambi. Happens to all kinds of couples.
[It's not dismissive, he's mourning too.]
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[ A half-hearted whisper, almost as if she's searching for hope, for a way to deny the truth. Francesca is not in the business of placating herself with lies; she's practical to a fault, and it has always served her to be so, until this moment.
Broken, she meets his eyes finally, and that's when she crumples, the tears running hot down her cheeks. ]
I don't understand.
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He's eager to get her home, even if there's parts of it that are difficult for both of them. Little things that remind him of their loss. He lets her sleep as much as she likes, but he makes her eat and he starts to ease her into sitting in the garden with him to get some sun.
They bury their baby in the garden, somewhere safe with a young tree planted atop the remains.
After a week, he surprises her with two highland calves. It's something they'd discussed and he feels like she could use the joy and the focus. It's the first time he's seen her smile since that day, which makes him hopeful for her.
Unsurprisingly, there are physical and mental barriers around sex that he's respectful of. He wants to be lead by her, so there's been one or two times in 3 weeks where he's engaged her with his fingers or his mouth, but she struggles to finish. It's certainly a change of pace, going from the kind of sex life they had before to this period. He understands it to be temporary, but he still needs to relieve himself when he gets a moment.
It becomes tricky not to be amorous when she comes out of her shell more. He's so in love with her and every part of him aches for her all the time. Every brush against him makes him eager, but he's still allowing her to lead.
On a pleasant afternoon after spending some time in the garden, Francesca bends to look at a flower. Her dress hitches and the curve of her ass is visible. His hand moves instinctively to grab a handful of her backside, squeezing firmly and suggestively. Although at some point he realises he's being forward, he lets his hand linger. Just to see how she reacts.]
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This one is her baby, their baby. Initially, she cries for days, and self-medicates to sleep the rest of the time. She doesn't want to be awake. Her thoughts turn dark, and though she's not actively suicidal, there's a part of her that doesn't want to live -- that feels a part of her died in that hospital room.
They bury him together. It helps. As do the calves, the sweet things. They follow her around like small children, demanding her almost undivided attention. She names them Federico (Fred) and Cat, rather cleverly she thinks, after the characters in A Farewell to Arms.
Guiltily, much of her attention is devoted to the calves when it was once focused on her husband. It's mostly not on purpose, but intimacy has turned into an issue since the miscarriage. More than once kissing becomes heavy petting becomes fingering, but her cunt goes dry and loses interest both times.
Her libido had become close to nonexistent. Her doctor tells her it's normal. They had been advised, too, to not have penetrative sex for a few weeks while she healed. She just hasn't been interested in sex. Or almost anything.
His hand on her ass, though. Bending down to trim rosemary, Fran stills, now quite unused to her husband fondling her since the miscarriage -- but mostly unsure how to respond. She's frozen like a doe caught in headlights, really, and looks back at him with big eyes. Her stomach clenches, but she tries to be playful. ]
I thought you took dinner before dessert.
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