[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. ]
[The freeze is just long enough that Nate nearly pulls away and apologises for getting fresh with her. That thought makes him pause, because it's so contrary to the way they've been before.
He can see the uncertainty in her eyes and realises, perhaps, he's given her mixed signals by slowing things down instead of guiding her. It makes him more resolute, wanting to encourage her rather than fussing over her. He circles his arm around her waist, pulling her back against him so he can brush his lips up her neck and murmur in her ear]
Always hungry for you, Bambi. [And he nearly tries to seek obvious interest or consent from her but he bites it back, turning it into an order.]
I want you naked, on all fours on the bed when I get up stairs. [He pulls back, smacking her ass as he walks away.]
[ It's the first time a shiver has run up her spine in weeks, what feels like the time Before. Her skin goes blistering hot.
She is nervous, incredibly so, but she slips out of her clothes and onto the king sized bed, in the position he ordered her to be. She's already a little wet, her mind running between fantasies and memories of him pounding into her, and her fear of messing this up like the other times they tried.
She glances back when she hears his footsteps coming up the hallway, her hips rocking involuntarily at the promise. ]
[Nate plays his role with confidence, though inside there's a little niggling uncertainty about whether she'll like it. He can never fully shut off the part of him that worries about her.
His heart races as he gets closer to the bedroom, but he keeps his gait casual. He says nothing when he walks in the room to see her. He feels a tiny flutter of glee just knowing she's still interested.
He peels his shirt off, coming to walk around her so he can grab her chin and tilt her face up to look at him.]
Good girl. [He bends down, kissing her deeply before standing back up.]
[ She noticeably preens at the praise, butterflies taking flight in her belly, a feeling she'd started to forget in her misery. His praise, whether generous or rare, always does this to her, and never more than when they are doing this.
Post-kiss, breathless, she opens her mouth and her pink tongue thrusts out, sticking out for him. Her curious eyes remain fixed on him, as if forbidden to look elsewhere. Saliva starts to pool in her mouth. ]
[It's a little test to see how game she really is. The way she thrusts her tongue out is very promising, reminiscent of the power-play they engage in when they're really egging each other on.
He doesn't hide his pleased look (sometimes he'll stay stoic to rile her up more). It's a non-verbal good girl. He cups her face, pressing his thumb firmly on her chin and dragging her bottom lip down. He leans in, taking his time to turn her head so he can visually inspect her. With one hand on her chin, he uses the other hand to trace his fingers around the inside of her lips and mouth and the tip of her tongue.
With his fingers curled on the tip of his tongue, he looks her in the eye.]
[ Francesca stays very, very still while he looks her over, her fingers curling into the topmost blanket. She's a precious jewel being inspected, assessed and judged.
He gives a directive. Suck, he says.
She does. Her mouth automatically closes around his fingers, just the tips of them, and starts to suck. Her body is on high alert; this is just the beginning of whatever is to come, that she knows. It's an easy entry point, after her body has failed to respond to his touch, and she hasn't been wanting to fuck for the last month.
[So far, so good. She's not as openly receptive as she normally would be, but he's not sensing discomfort. He hums as she sucks at his fingers, cock firming up all the more as he watches her. His fingers withdraw and he guides her face to press against the outline of his cock, so she can feel how hard he is.
His hand slides under her, taking her breast in his hand and kneading it.]
I want to make you feel good. Fuck you good. [His cock twitches under her cheek, eager.]
I want you so wet you drip. [Which has been something of a difficulty, but he's confident if he takes charge and takes time, he'll find her pleasure again. He pulls back with a meaningful look. He needs a towel and lube-- he can work her up to being wet with encouragement.
When he returns, he reaches under her to tuck the towel on the bed. They're going to need it. He lubes his fingers and warms them, wanting everything to feel good for her when he touches her.]
Face down, ass up.
[He reaches under again, this time running his fingers over the lips of her pussy. He starts light, exploring over the shapes and folds before circling his finger over her clit.]
[ His every word is encouragement, as is the responses of his cock against her cheek. She nuzzles into the imprint. When he steps away, she feels the mildest twinges of discomfort, and desperately hopes and tries to will away her anxiety.
The moment of truth will be when it comes to that point.
She has questions when he whips out the towel, but she doesn't ask, to save herself from stressing over it.
The lube helps his fingers slip around her clit, a hum building in the base of her throat. Her knees nudge further apart, cunt flaring, pink and puffy with mounting arousal. ]
Yes sir.
[ But when he dips a finger into her needy cunt, she begins to panic. ]
[He can intuit that she's fretting inside, but she's doing incredibly well in his eyes. He pets her backside with his other hand, dragging his thumb over her ass cheek and spreading her a little more.
Still, this is his favourite place and his favourite thing. He loves her soft, pink cunt. Loves having his mouth and fingers there. He feels impossibly thirsty for it and he wants to lap at her cunt and bury his face in it.
Small steps.]
Feels nice, bambi.
[He doesn't want to tell her to relax, she knows what she needs to do and if it were that easy, she would. He needs to relax her. He presses a thick finger inside her and feels her walls clench in resistance. He doesn't panic, pumping his finger in and out of her slowly.]
[ She appreciates that he's not voicing his concerns aloud or hesitating. Since hospital, he's been incredibly patient and gentle with her, uncharacteristically so in some respects. It had been necessary, for a time, but now she realizes she doesn't want that. She doesn't need that from him.
She needs this. She needs to be ordered around, pushed to her limits. Let her mentally and physically work through it via pleasure. Let him take over her body and mind so she can leave both behind for a while.
That said, initially it isn't comfortable. The lubricant aids some, but not fully. She bears it, forces her body to grow accustomed again to the pumping motion, the withdrawal and re-entry.
Eventually, she relaxes into it, and her body starts to self-lubricate, her juices joining silicone, letting him add a second. Her ass arches, swaying back, joining the rhythm. ]
[Nate can feel her getting wetter, warmer against his fingers. It's enough to make him drool, especially when she arches and sways. Her ass looks very tempting, as much as it did when he grabbed it the first time.
He curls his finger in her, working her up to a second. His other hand skims under her to squeeze her breast, pinching a nipple.]
Your body makes me fucking crazy. [Which she knows by now, but he wants her to know the depth of it as he pumps two fingers in and out of her.]
When you came out in your little dress this morning, I wanted to bend you over the table and bury my cock in you. [He squeezes her breast firmly, like he's scolding her for being beautiful.]
[ The second addition brings her head to a bend, her long hair falling over one shoulder, revealing the back of her neck. Her cunt spasms wildly when he mentions bending her over.
That gets a moan out of her, a small half-choked thing, her lip sucking into her mouth. It feels good, feels magical to have his fingers inside her again.
He's told her to advocate for what she wants, and she thinks -- she's pretty sure -- he'll indulge her now. Her fingers curl and uncurl in the bedding. ]
[Nate smiles to himself as he feels her relax even more. She's closer than she's been before and she wants more, that's good.
His hand leaves her breast, spreading his fingers over the back of her neck and gripping firmly. He complies happily with the request, adding another finger and pressing them all deep inside her. He drags them in and out slowly.]
[ Her breath hitches out, her teeth baring with sheer pleasure.
The question is simple, takes no contemplation on her part, and she doesn't feel like denying him the satisfaction of hearing it right now. Not that she regularly does -- but especially when she hasn't wanted him to touch her in weeks.
But ... she tenses for a moment; she hasn't had the desire to use this name, has been unable to ask him whether he wants to hear it.
A long stretch of silence is broken. ] Daddy's. [ Her voice is wobbly, her eyes suddenly damp. Her orgasm is rising, albeit slowly. ] This pussy is Daddy's.
[In this moment, Nate feels no conflict about the name. He was her daddy before, he'll be her daddy as long as she allows it.
What he does feel is incredibly fucking horny. He's not close to finishing, but he knows he'll feel truly satisfied if he can get her to come.]
Come, bambi. [Soft, but authoritative. He hopes her obedience overrules any fear or doubt.]
Come for daddy.
[It hits the mark, apparently. He feels the familiar tremble and sudden clench around his fingers. He groans low in his throat, curling against her walls and rubbing her.]
Her knees tremble and the small of her back arches as she teeters, her brain initially fearful before even it cannot overcome her body's need: she crests, throbbing around his fingers, rutting against his wrist. She doesn't make much noise in spite of it: biting down on her bottom lip, blood drawn.
It's a drawn out climax, her body shuddering, her hips slowly stopping their roll.
Finished, Francesca is quiet, but she's trembling still. Her shoulders begin to shake with tears. ]
[Her quietness is noted, but he's lost in how excited he is to feel her unwinding around him. Even if the absence of sound is strange, the movements of her body are familiar.
He almost doesn't notice her cry, since it's normal for her to shake a little. Once he realises, he can't help panicking. His fingers slide out and he winds his arms around her middle, leaning over her.]
Oh-- you alright, bambi? [He sounds genuinely concerned despite himself, slipping out of character as he presses his lips to her temple.]
[ There are few people Francesca will allow herself to willingly cry around. He's never shamed her for it, he never would, but she's spent the last week trying to compartmentalize the trauma, loathe to put that further burden on him. She'd wept and felt sorry for herself enough.
Her release has undone her completely. Diminished that last stronghold. Her tears slip into sobs, and she turns, arms winding around his neck so he can gather her to him. ]
[His arms loosen enough so that she can turn, then tighten again around her. He nuzzles his head against hers, pressing his lips firmly against the side of her head.
He's worried, of course, but he's optimistic that there's important catharsis in this moment. Something she needs.]
I'm here. [Simple, he knows there's been distance between them but he's never for a second worried that it would last forever. He rubs slow circles on her back, drawing her into his lap so they're a tangle of limbs again.]
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selfeffacingly) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sundown2025-04-27 08:43 pm
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
He can see the uncertainty in her eyes and realises, perhaps, he's given her mixed signals by slowing things down instead of guiding her. It makes him more resolute, wanting to encourage her rather than fussing over her. He circles his arm around her waist, pulling her back against him so he can brush his lips up her neck and murmur in her ear]
Always hungry for you, Bambi. [And he nearly tries to seek obvious interest or consent from her but he bites it back, turning it into an order.]
I want you naked, on all fours on the bed when I get up stairs. [He pulls back, smacking her ass as he walks away.]
I'm going to lock up.
no subject
She is nervous, incredibly so, but she slips out of her clothes and onto the king sized bed, in the position he ordered her to be. She's already a little wet, her mind running between fantasies and memories of him pounding into her, and her fear of messing this up like the other times they tried.
She glances back when she hears his footsteps coming up the hallway, her hips rocking involuntarily at the promise. ]
no subject
His heart races as he gets closer to the bedroom, but he keeps his gait casual. He says nothing when he walks in the room to see her. He feels a tiny flutter of glee just knowing she's still interested.
He peels his shirt off, coming to walk around her so he can grab her chin and tilt her face up to look at him.]
Good girl. [He bends down, kissing her deeply before standing back up.]
Open your mouth, stick out your tongue for me.
no subject
Post-kiss, breathless, she opens her mouth and her pink tongue thrusts out, sticking out for him. Her curious eyes remain fixed on him, as if forbidden to look elsewhere. Saliva starts to pool in her mouth. ]
no subject
He doesn't hide his pleased look (sometimes he'll stay stoic to rile her up more). It's a non-verbal good girl. He cups her face, pressing his thumb firmly on her chin and dragging her bottom lip down. He leans in, taking his time to turn her head so he can visually inspect her. With one hand on her chin, he uses the other hand to trace his fingers around the inside of her lips and mouth and the tip of her tongue.
With his fingers curled on the tip of his tongue, he looks her in the eye.]
Suck.
no subject
He gives a directive. Suck, he says.
She does. Her mouth automatically closes around his fingers, just the tips of them, and starts to suck. Her body is on high alert; this is just the beginning of whatever is to come, that she knows. It's an easy entry point, after her body has failed to respond to his touch, and she hasn't been wanting to fuck for the last month.
Eventually, her eyes flutter shut. ]
no subject
His hand slides under her, taking her breast in his hand and kneading it.]
I want to make you feel good. Fuck you good. [His cock twitches under her cheek, eager.]
I want you so wet you drip. [Which has been something of a difficulty, but he's confident if he takes charge and takes time, he'll find her pleasure again. He pulls back with a meaningful look. He needs a towel and lube-- he can work her up to being wet with encouragement.
When he returns, he reaches under her to tuck the towel on the bed. They're going to need it. He lubes his fingers and warms them, wanting everything to feel good for her when he touches her.]
Face down, ass up.
[He reaches under again, this time running his fingers over the lips of her pussy. He starts light, exploring over the shapes and folds before circling his finger over her clit.]
Every part of you is perfect. And it's mine.
no subject
The moment of truth will be when it comes to that point.
She has questions when he whips out the towel, but she doesn't ask, to save herself from stressing over it.
The lube helps his fingers slip around her clit, a hum building in the base of her throat. Her knees nudge further apart, cunt flaring, pink and puffy with mounting arousal. ]
Yes sir.
[ But when he dips a finger into her needy cunt, she begins to panic. ]
no subject
Still, this is his favourite place and his favourite thing. He loves her soft, pink cunt. Loves having his mouth and fingers there. He feels impossibly thirsty for it and he wants to lap at her cunt and bury his face in it.
Small steps.]
Feels nice, bambi.
[He doesn't want to tell her to relax, she knows what she needs to do and if it were that easy, she would. He needs to relax her. He presses a thick finger inside her and feels her walls clench in resistance. He doesn't panic, pumping his finger in and out of her slowly.]
no subject
She needs this. She needs to be ordered around, pushed to her limits. Let her mentally and physically work through it via pleasure. Let him take over her body and mind so she can leave both behind for a while.
That said, initially it isn't comfortable. The lubricant aids some, but not fully. She bears it, forces her body to grow accustomed again to the pumping motion, the withdrawal and re-entry.
Eventually, she relaxes into it, and her body starts to self-lubricate, her juices joining silicone, letting him add a second. Her ass arches, swaying back, joining the rhythm. ]
no subject
He curls his finger in her, working her up to a second. His other hand skims under her to squeeze her breast, pinching a nipple.]
Your body makes me fucking crazy. [Which she knows by now, but he wants her to know the depth of it as he pumps two fingers in and out of her.]
When you came out in your little dress this morning, I wanted to bend you over the table and bury my cock in you. [He squeezes her breast firmly, like he's scolding her for being beautiful.]
Been thinking about your pussy all day.
no subject
That gets a moan out of her, a small half-choked thing, her lip sucking into her mouth. It feels good, feels magical to have his fingers inside her again.
He's told her to advocate for what she wants, and she thinks -- she's pretty sure -- he'll indulge her now. Her fingers curl and uncurl in the bedding. ]
Another, please.
no subject
His hand leaves her breast, spreading his fingers over the back of her neck and gripping firmly. He complies happily with the request, adding another finger and pressing them all deep inside her. He drags them in and out slowly.]
Whose pussy is this?
no subject
The question is simple, takes no contemplation on her part, and she doesn't feel like denying him the satisfaction of hearing it right now. Not that she regularly does -- but especially when she hasn't wanted him to touch her in weeks.
But ... she tenses for a moment; she hasn't had the desire to use this name, has been unable to ask him whether he wants to hear it.
A long stretch of silence is broken. ] Daddy's. [ Her voice is wobbly, her eyes suddenly damp. Her orgasm is rising, albeit slowly. ] This pussy is Daddy's.
no subject
What he does feel is incredibly fucking horny. He's not close to finishing, but he knows he'll feel truly satisfied if he can get her to come.]
Come, bambi. [Soft, but authoritative. He hopes her obedience overrules any fear or doubt.]
Come for daddy.
[It hits the mark, apparently. He feels the familiar tremble and sudden clench around his fingers. He groans low in his throat, curling against her walls and rubbing her.]
That's a good girl. Good girl.
no subject
Her knees tremble and the small of her back arches as she teeters, her brain initially fearful before even it cannot overcome her body's need: she crests, throbbing around his fingers, rutting against his wrist. She doesn't make much noise in spite of it: biting down on her bottom lip, blood drawn.
It's a drawn out climax, her body shuddering, her hips slowly stopping their roll.
Finished, Francesca is quiet, but she's trembling still. Her shoulders begin to shake with tears. ]
no subject
He almost doesn't notice her cry, since it's normal for her to shake a little. Once he realises, he can't help panicking. His fingers slide out and he winds his arms around her middle, leaning over her.]
Oh-- you alright, bambi? [He sounds genuinely concerned despite himself, slipping out of character as he presses his lips to her temple.]
Hey, hey. I've got you.
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Her release has undone her completely. Diminished that last stronghold. Her tears slip into sobs, and she turns, arms winding around his neck so he can gather her to him. ]
I miss you.
no subject
He's worried, of course, but he's optimistic that there's important catharsis in this moment. Something she needs.]
I'm here. [Simple, he knows there's been distance between them but he's never for a second worried that it would last forever. He rubs slow circles on her back, drawing her into his lap so they're a tangle of limbs again.]
Good girl. Get it out.
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