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You had come over with the intention of confession. Hands folded in front, you had planned to brush aside the dirty laundry from the foot of Chris’ bed, to sit there with too-big eyes, wide with uncertainty and tell him the truth.
Instead, you had hardly made it into the bedroom before your lips covered his, and the two of you were feverishly stripping from your clothes.
Now, you were prostrate between his legs. One hand was clenched in the sheets, while the other was full, curled around the base of Chris’ cock. It was hot, heavy against your palm, and you tipped it toward your mouth. Chris was watching with glazed brown eyes; his own hands were trying to find purpose, running through your hair, cupping your cheeks, anyway he could feel you.
Your tongue slipped out and blazed a wet line along the underside of his dick, slow and deliberate. Your thumb tugged down on the skin until you could lap along the ridge of his head. Chris hissed out an exhale in response. With a hum, you sank your mouth down over his cock. Your hand moved him for you, head still while you rubbed his cock along the heat of your tongue. Drool started to gather, and you lifted off long enough to let it drip down across his shaft.
“Shit, come on,” Chris whined as your palm lathered your spit up and down his cock with slick sounds. You ignored him, instead allowing your other hand to reach up and cup beneath him, fingers squeezing gently against his balls. “Ah, fuck–alright, alright.”
You could hear the smile on his face. Chris’ body twitched beneath you as you swallowed him back down. Your throat was sensitive. Normally, with a little time and encouragement, you could take him to the hilt for a brief moment, could hear Chris moan as his cock pushed into the tight muscles of your throat. But not now. Not in your condition. And the last thing you wanted was to throw up while you were giving head.
You bobbed along the length of him, stopping short of pain. Your hand moved with you, elongating the feeling. A pseudo-sensation of being sucked deeper than he was. But Chris didn’t mind.
One of Chris’ palms settled against your jaw as he sat up. It jostiled you, bumped his cock a little too deep, and you gagged something fierce. Your head snapped up off of his dick, coughing as your hand flew to cover your mouth. Chris’ face was the picture of concern.
“Oh, goddammit, I’m sorry,” Chris murmured, his other hand rubbing along your back. “You okay?”
Your head spun as you fought down the lurching in your stomach. You sent up a prayer to whoever might be listening that you could hold out. By a miracle, your body’s turmoil quelled. You nodded as your hand dropped down. The other was still wrapped around his dick, and you gave an idle stroke.
“Yeah. Just–” Another cough cut you off. Chris moved your hand away from him.
“Let me get you some water.”
Chris was up in a minute. You almost laughed at the sight of him–naked, still very erect–jogging out quickly toward the kitchen. You rocked back on your heels, kneeling in the middle of the mattress. Your eyes searched the popcorn ceiling for answers. The back of your arm raised up to scrub at your lips and chin. Footsteps sounded soon, and you lowered your gaze to see Chris walking back in.
“Here.”
He leaned over the foot of the bed, one hand pushing into the mattress until it creaked while the other offered you a water bottle. Your fingers brushed over the cap before you took it slowly. Chris let his palm fall beside the other to keep bracing himself. He watched you while you twisted off the cap and took long swigs.
Eventually, you pulled off the bottle. Droplets raced over your skin, cold from the fridge, and goosebumps trailed behind quickly. You wiped at your chest. A half-genuine smile crossed your face. Chris mirrored it, but there was still concern burning low in his dark irises.
“Better,” you added to try and soothe him. You tilted toward the side table and set down the bottle. Chris crawled back onto the bed. He reached for you, hands settling on the outside of your thighs.
“Good. Did you–do you want to–” Chris at least had the decency to look a little sheepish. You rolled your eyes good-naturedly.
“Come here.”
You pulled him into a kiss. Chris made a quiet sound of pleasant surprise as he pressed into it. His mouth parted, eager, inviting you in. You took it; your tongue flicked along his bottom lip then eased in. Chris’ tongue met you, slipping, gentle, while his hands moved across the tops of your thighs down to the seams between them and your hips. A little pressure, and you wiggled on the bed to spread for him.
Chris cupped his palm against your sex. He pressed the heel of his palm into your hard clit, feeling it slip along the skin. His fingertips parted your folds. Quick, insistent movements as he felt your arousal. Chris teased at your slit. You whined into his mouth before giving him a quick nip on his bottom lip.
You pulled away from your kiss; the heat in your face made you dizzy. Chris guided you onto your back. He continued to press, to soak his fingertips on the slick dripping from your cunt. His other hand smoothed down the length of your torso. He thumbed one of your nipples, then he slid lower. Chris stopped his palm against your stomach. The gesture, normally something comforting, made you panic.
You wrestled control back by easing his hands off of you. You turned over, propped on your knees, face buried in the mattress. Chris took it in stride. His thumbs hooked into the flesh on either side of your mound and spread you open. Your muscles clenched involuntarily, and Chris groaned at the sight.
“Fuck, you’re so hot.”
Chris pressed two fingers into the heat of your pussy. He pumped slowly, and, with the occasional tease, brushed his thumb against your other hole. You made a noise of warning. Not tonight. And Chris understood.
Somehow, that made the pleasure in your body simmer higher. You’d been fucking Chris for months at this point. Pure stress relief, pure fun. It made you better teammates, much to your amusement, but it was started with the strict plan of never going further.
But Chris was soft, too soft for your liking. He had learned you quickly, turned his touches into something that made your body sing. But more than that, he was sweet when he didn’t need to be. Little gestures unbecoming of two friends who had sex.
Or maybe it was your hormones talking, seeking that solace of a partner who would care for you and the thing you’d made together.
You were torn from your thoughts as Chris removed his fingers from you. Your walls flexed, displeased at the emptiness, but Chris was quick to remedy that. He grabbed the bends of your waist and tugged your hips backward; the head of his cock rubbed gently over your clit before trailing a line between your lips and pushing against your entrance.
You arched your back a little more, helping him inside. The head of his cock was sucked in by your needy cunt with a wet ‘pop’, and you both moaned in tandem. Chris rocked forward; you pushed your face deeper into the mattress as his cock stretched you open. Chris pressed his hips flush to yours; a sigh as he relished in the way you gripped it, how your muscles rippled along the length of him.
Chris drew back. The drag of his cock through your aching channel made you moan. You were glad the sound was muffled by the mattress beneath you. Like your throat, everything was too sensitive. You would come untouched at this rate.
“God, why are–” A thin whimper left Chris as he sheathed himself into you again. “Why are you so wet? Jesus fucking Christ.” He picked up his pace a little; Chris shoved his cock as deep as it would go, pushing and angling your hips to feel every inch of your slick heat.
“Don’t know.” You panted softly. You were digging your nails into your palms, trying not to come so quickly. But it was hard. Especially when Chris guided a hand up to press between your shoulder blades. It pinned you, a rough gesture with surprising tenderness in the way Chris stroked his fingertips over the ridges of your spine. You bucked against him, smearing fluid on the dark curls adorning his pelvis as you came. It was stinging, almost cold, as it ripped up your stomach. It made you clamp down as you cried his name; your nails found the sheets and tore at them.
“Hey–fuck, are you–?” Chris was shocked, but it quickly turned into a moan. “Holy shit, I can’t–” Your spasming walls took the breath from his lungs, and Chris couldn’t hold back as he flooded your cunt with his come. Unexpected and powerful, Chris folded over you in a fever, rutting deep as he finished. You inexplicably felt bad. Especially as Chris swore, embarrassed, before sliding his dick out of you.
“Shit, I am so sorry. I don’t know what’s going on tonight.” Chris sat down on the bed, and you turned over onto your back. His face was pink with a blush. Choking you, then coming early. To Chris, this was a nuclear event. And you knew none of it was his fault. So you did what you came to do: confess.
“I’m pregnant.”
You were staring up at that popcorn ceiling again. There was a long stretch of silence, and eventually, you looked down between your thighs at Chris near the foot of the bed. His brows were furrowed. His lips parted, slightly upturned in a smirk.
“I…don’t think it works like that,” he said, voice amused as he nodded toward the mess leaking from your entrance.
It almost made you laugh again. Chris was good at that. But you doubled down. “No–Chris, I came over tonight to tell you.”
The smile fell from Chris’ face. His eyes went wide. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Yeah. That’s why everything was fucking weird tonight.” You sat up slowly. You flinched when you felt a generous bead of come swell between your lips before dripping onto the sheets. “I’m sorry, I should have told you right when I got here, but–”
Chris puffed his cheeks up before blowing out a heavy exhale. His hands slid through his short dark hair then slapped down against his thighs. “Well. Uh.” Chris didn’t seem nearly as bothered by this as you had expected. Thrown, for sure. But you watched the gears turn, could see he was trying to figure it out. “That–changes things.” A pause. “Can I get some of that water?”
You reached over to the side table and grabbed the water bottle. It dripped with condensation, and Chris’ fingers bumped your as he took it from you. His hand shook a little. Chris tossed the cap away into the mess of his bedroom as he drained the entire thing, throat bobbing. You watched carefully. A crinkle echoed as Chris crushed it down.
“You alright?” you asked softly. You shifted to sit up. You flinched as a bead of come swelled against your lips before spilling out on the sheets. Chris nodded to you but didn’t speak. You decided to give him a moment.
You padded across the floor to the bathroom. You lowered the toilet seat and sat down with a hiss. Palms covering your face, you made soft grumbles of frustration: with yourself, with Chris, with the universe. It wasn’t fair.
Quickly, you decided to clean between your legs with a wet wipe, flushing it down and washing your hands. You stared into the mirror. A knock against the door made your gaze flick away.
You opened the bathroom. Chris was standing there with a look of…something on his face. His pupils were blown, and his lips quivered like he was trying to hide some emotion. You frowned at him. “Chris?”
“So you’re really sure?”
There was a quiver in his voice. You knew that sound. Excitement.
“I am.”
Chris let his face break out into something beaming. He looked like the sun, radiant and warm. His hands took your face and dragged you up, up until you were on the tips of your toes, and he was kissing you with all the force of the rapture. You thought he might steal your breath, and after a moment, you had to break away. “Chris?”
“I’m just…” Chris shook his head, face pulled into a dreamy expression. Half-lidded eyes, furrowed brows, lips parted just so in a look of delighted disbelief. “A baby. A little me? A little you?” Chris dropped down and kissed you again. He pulled away before you could suffocate this time. “Holy shit, I really–” Chris dropped a hand to your stomach.
“Aren’t you–” You cut yourself off, unsure of even what to ask. Chris’ reaction was overwhelming. In a good way, you supposed. “Chris, we’re young. What about S.T.A.R.S.? Fuck, we aren’t even–”
“Together?” Chris rushed the word out. “I’ll fix that. I should have fixed it two months ago.” His dark eyes danced with adoration. “That night at the movies should have been our first real date. Wait.” Realization. A grin. “Was that when–?”
“Probably.”
The two of you had finally gone to see Titanic a month after its release. Stupid, too romantic for what you’d been. It was Chris’ idea. That night, Chris had been suspiciously quiet when you had sex. Thinking soft things, you were sure now. That was six weeks ago. And while you hadn’t been to the doctor to confirm how far along you were, it did seem to fit the timeline.
Chris nuzzled his nose against yours. Your hands circled the wrist that kept hold of your face. “Sweetheart.” A term of endearment. The first he’d used. But the way his mouth formed it, you knew he’d been dying to say it. For how long, you might never know. Heat fluttered all across your nerves, and your eyes slipped shut.
“You didn’t answer me.”
“What, about S.T.A.R.S.? We’ll get you reassigned. You’re gonna be a glorified clerk for a while. But you’ll go on leave, then I’ll go on leave, and then we figure it out. We don’t have to give it up.” Chris was so certain you almost believed him. You knew it would be harder than that.
“Chris, it’s–”
“I’ve got this. I’ve got you.” Chris crushed another desperate kiss to your mouth. He pulled back but kept your lips so near you could feel his breath on your teeth. “We can do this. I want to do this.”
You closed your eyes. Your other hand met his against your stomach. You wondered idly if it could feel your pulses tangled together, Chris’ so sure and dragging you along. Chris’ voice was a little lower now. “What are you thinking?”
“Too much,” was your vague answer. Hormones made you want to cry. What kind of cry, you didn’t know. Chris drew his thumb along your cheekbone. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“So don’t. Let me think. Let me do this for us.” Chris sounded so earnest. His fingers locked with yours against your belly.
You raised your eyes to the ceiling for the third time tonight. You squinted, as though you could see past the roof and study the stars, wanting them to answer your unspoken pleas. Chris gripped your chin and pulled you back to reality; you met his gaze. No stars above you. But there you could find them in the soft irises of the man in front of you.
“Okay.”