The Bet

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The Bet

Educating Thalia

Prologue 2018 pt 2

Collaboration by devikafernando and avenger-nerd-mom

Professors AU

Thalia holds Tom to his promise- whatever she wants for a WHOLE day since she won their World Cup bet!

Warnings: NSFW, language, fingering, oral sex, household chores, intercourse

Word Count 3556

This is an interim piece, catching up with Thalia Barreo and her life. Right now, she’s with Tom, but that doesn’t mean Chris is forgotten… Find out how the story ends in the sequel to Educating Thalia, coming soon!

If you don’t know the story of Thalia and Professor Tom, or how Professor Evans fits into all this, start at the beginning! Read Educating Thalia on WordPress.

Thalia is in heaven today—even if her imaginary halo keeps getting caught on her horns…

She won the World Cup bet with her boyfriend, Professor Tom Hiddleston, and she’s chosen this day to have him be at her beck and call. She wants to make good use of their time before he returns to his home for work. Their jobs keep them busy, she works in Paris while he still teaches literature at a small prestigious university in the countryside, near London. But they always have time for one another, and their summer holiday together was exactly what they both needed. Winning the bet was just an added bonus! Since this morning, she’s made him do all sorts of things, relishing the power she holds over her usually so dominant man.

It started with breakfast in bed. A full English breakfast, of course. Gotta put her British gentleman to proper use, after all. He managed to have it all ready at the same time, hot and tasty, and fed her bite after bite while Thalia returned the favor.

Then she decided some lazy lounging in bed was in order, and she ordered Tom to read to her in his ‘sexy professor voice’. That turned her on so much that she almost jumped his bones right then and there, but she held back. She has plans for her devoted manservant today!

“Now what, Mistress?” Tom gives her a mock half-bow and a radiant smile. He seems to be enjoying himself as much as she is, taking great care to be polite and fast but also sneak in little caresses.

Thalia stretches, relishing the way his eyes grow darker and hungry in an instant when it displays her curves. She’s still wrapped in her blanket whereas Tom dressed in dark jeans and a ratty, almost see-through T-shirt to prepare breakfast.

“Now you put those long, beautiful fingers to good use, Thomas,” she croons.

His eyes darken further, and the tip of his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

“Oh, I can think of several uses for them,” he says with one of those squint-eyed winks of his.

Thalia feels a shiver of anticipation run down her spine but keeps herself in check. Not yet, Chica!

“So can I.” With a grin, she points to a flat, square box in a corner of the room. “Check what’s inside this one.”

Brows quirked, he gives her a long look, then shrugs and goes to get the box.

“Do you by chance have any naughty shenanigans planned, Thalia?”

Her grin widens. “Yes and no.”

Now looking confused, he opens the box, then shoots her a glance of complete bewilderment. He holds up a big, round wall clock, one of those where you can program a different time zone for a smaller clock integrated in the face.

“Perfect. Now be a darling,” she said, pronouncing it his English way, “and hang it on the wall for me. Right there, close to the desk.”

“You want me to…want me to…” Tom spluttered, and she giggles into her hand.

Oh yes, this is going to be such fun.

“Yes. There should be a hammer and nails in the other box I kept there.”

“But…” He stares at her, throat working, eyes blinking. “You know I’m a horrible handyman. I’ll end up getting a fist-sized hole in your wall or hitting my own hand. Or breaking your new clock.”

Tom has an adorably pleading expression on his face that makes her want to giggle again.

“You’ll do just fine. I won’t even mind a crooked clock because I’ll enjoy watching you.”

With an exasperated shake of his head, Tom sets the clock down on the desk and pads over to the second cardboard box she’d indicated, muttering, “Why did I ever agree to that bet?” under his breath.

“Wait.”

He half-turns. “Yes?”

“Strip first.”

The expression on his face is priceless and so comical it could’ve been taken right out of a children’s cartoon. He looks as if she asked him to take her to the moon in a private spaceship.

“What did you say?” he croaks, voice a little higher than usual.

Thalia sits back, crossing her arms and smirking gleefully. “I said, strip for me, Thomas.”

“I…” He blushes crimson, still looking confused as hell. “I thought I was supposed to hang the clock?”

“And you’ll do exactly that—but naked.”

“You’re out of your beautiful, crazy mind, woman!” He’s still blinking and blushing.

Thalia cocks a brow at him, trying her best to lose the humorous expression and glare at him imperiously. “Did you, or did you not, promise me you’d do anything I want for a whole day? Are you a sore loser? A coward?”

Tom’s chin comes up and his jaw firms with the challenge, just as she thought it would.

“You know I always keep my promises!”

“Well, then.” She waves her hand, dismissing it, motioning him to get on with it.

Mumbling expletives under his breath, Tom crosses his arms and shucks the T-shirt. “You’re quite the pervert, darling,” he grouses, one corner of his mouth twitching as if he is holding back a grin. “Are you living out your naughty handyman porn fantasies?”

It’s her turn to stare and huff. “Maybe?”

“Enjoy the show, then.”

With more enthusiasm now, Tom steps out of his jeans. Of course, he wears no boxers beneath, so Thalia gets to ogle him in all his mouth-watering, panty-soaking glory.

“I’m afraid I’m not hard enough to pound nails quite yet,” Tom quipped, “So I’d best use the real hammer.”

Leaving her gaping with his awful pun, she hears him snicker quietly to himself as he goes to retrieve the tools from the box.

“You keep up those terrible jokes, and you’ll be glad you seem to have a special and intimate relationship with that hammer… You don’t wanna lose it.”

He chuckles, turning to discreetly flip her off as he wipes his middle finger across his forehead.

God, he looks gorgeous like this. Unabashedly aroused, Thalia watches him bend and get what he needs. He saunters back to the desk and grabs the clock, and then goes to work without any more protests but still blushing. She knew he would play along, but she underestimated how sexy he would look doing something so mundane yet manly.

Fascinated, she drinks in the play of his muscles as they flex and bunch. His ass looks even sexier than usual when he stretches to try out the right spot for the clock, his calf and thigh muscles and his back muscles and biceps all making her hands itch to touch him.

Milking the situation for all its worth, she has him shift the position a little more left and right and up and down before she finally settles on a place where he’s supposed to hit the nail into the wall.

He’s, as suspected, rather clumsy with such a simple task and almost bangs his own thumb, but somehow, disaster is averted.

Deed accomplished, Tom turns around, and it takes all her willpower to keep her gaze on his face.

“Happy now, darling?”

“Very.” Smiling like the cat that got the cream, Thalia feasts her eyes on him.

“Now, I do believe one of my pantry cupboard doors needs a screw tightened. On we go, Mr. Fix it.”

Throwing his head back, Tom guffaws his signature ‘ehehehe’.

“You’re a minx. Not that I didn’t know that before.” He shoots her a look when she gets up to lead him into the kitchen, blanket still wrapped around her naked form. “A screw to be tightened, hm? Oh, I’m really good at screwing.”

He waggles his eyebrows and it’s her turn to laugh. With a groan, she punches his arm.

“Stop it with the puns. Your professor humor isn’t nearly as funny as you think.”

* * *

For the better part of an hour, Thalia makes her ‘slave’ do all sorts of tasks around the house, and to Tom’s credit, he never loses his sense of humor. Bowing and teasing, thinking up puns and making a real mess of even the easiest fixing jobs, he keeps her entertained.

Thalia makes sure she brushes by him to hand him things, leaning close to point out a mistake, oh so accidentally touched him when handing him tools he needs. He isn’t unaffected by it, oh no. With nothing to hide his body, his gradual arousal becomes obvious.

But even though this is her game, she’s affected as well. How could one not, when he’s a fantasy come true?

“I’m really glad you chose to become a professor and not a carpenter,” she muses with a grin when Tom uses the screwdriver all wrong for the umpteenth time. But oh, those veins in his arms pop nicely when he does that. And he’s worked up a fine sheen of sweat by now, tempting her to lick his glistening abs or draw her fingers over his sparse but lovely happy trail.

“Me too.” He gives her an exasperated look. “Now, unless you want to spend a whole week fixing what I bungled in an hour, you’d better think of something else I should do.”

With a snort, she nods.

“I think you need a wash…and I will join you.”

“Now you’re talking.” Wiggling his brows again, a gleam comes into Tom’s eyes as he steps closer.

Thalia holds up her hands, stopping his progress.

“Remember our first date years ago? When you invited me to the hotel and prepared a bath for me? Pampered me?”

Tom’s pupils dilate, but the smile he shows her is more love than lust, and it sends a spark of awareness through her. “I’ll never forget that day, Thalia. In fact, I haven’t forgotten a single moment ever shared with you, darling. If only you’d acknowledge what…”

She shakes her head and he shuts his mouth, breaking eye contact for a moment. Unspoken words hang between them, but neither of them seems ready to face the music.

“I’ll go get that bath ready,” Tom mutters and leaves.

Thalia swallows but refuses to wallow in thoughts. Today is supposed to be fun. They will battle their demons later.

And so she sips some left-over coffee and idly wanders around the small kitchen, ignoring the papers from her latest work offer, listening to Tom whistle while he prepares her bath.

“Ready whenever you are,” she hears him call after a while and walks towards his cheerful voice.

The scent of orchids drifts to her as she enters the bathroom. The tub might be a bit smaller than the one they shared in the hotel in America but she’s chosen this place because it’s at least big enough to accommodate her curves. Frothy lavender-colored foam greets her alongside the flowery bath bomb fragrance.

Tom is waiting for her with an outstretched hand, now crooking his finger to beckon her closer. As that day, he slowly undresses her, kneeling at her feet and pulling the fuzzy blanket away from her body. He presses tiny, teasing kisses along her thighs and belly. He nuzzles softly, inhales her in that way he has and sends her senses tingling.

“Let me pamper you, my magnificent warrior princess,” Tom whispers, reaching up and pulling her down for a kiss.

Their lips meet gently at first. Seeking, soothing. Then he slides his tongue in and takes over, just for a moment, just long enough to make her insides quiver before he withdraws and takes her hand.

He leads her to the tub where nice-smelling steam is rising temptingly. Before she can even squeak in surprise, he’s lifted her into his strong arms and lowered her safely into the water. God, she still loves it how easily Tom can handle her, and how much tenderness lurks beneath the strength.

With a contented sigh, Thalia scoots forward in the warm, scented bath water. Tom climbs in behind her and draws her close so that her back rests firmly against his chest and his thighs cradle hers.

For a few blissful moments, they stay like this, soaking in their togetherness, calming their ever-lurking arousal.

“Let me wash your hair?” It’s more of a question than a command, and to her that speaks volumes.

“Yes, please.”

With a small hum of satisfaction, Tom uses the detachable shower head to wet her hair, then grabs a shampoo bottle. As soon as he begins massaging her scalp and sifting his tapered fingers through her hair, she closes her eyes in bliss—then opens them in surprise when his voice filters through, low and deep and almost hypnotizing.

She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies,” he starts reciting the poem by Lord Byron, not stopping until he’s finished it.

Knowing they need to talk, it makes her emotional. The university hiring committee is waiting for her answer, but she can’t bring herself to broach the subject with him. Just not yet. She knows he won’t like it, but she’s asked them to find an opening for him too. But the opportunity is too good to pass up this time, especially if she wants further funding for research… Pressing her eyes closed tightly and telling herself it’s simply the shampoo making her eyes sting with tears, she loses herself in the moment.

Once Tom is done massaging, he washes her hair lovingly, then repeats the whole process with conditioner.

“More?” he asks softly, and she swallows past the lump in her throat and croaks out a “yes, sir” automatically, even though he is technically her ‘slave for the day’.

“My good girl. Let’s pamper you some more.”

Tom’s hands glide over her body, slick with body wash. Kneading and molding, washing and caressing, leaving no inch of her untouched. With torturous slowness, they make their way up her thighs and skim to the insides, grazing the sensitive skin with only the fingertips and blunt nails, scratching ever so slightly to make Thalia shiver.

“More?” he asks again, and this time she can only nod.

One hand wanders back to anchor itself on her hip, a firm grip that will probably leave a faint bruise and stakes a claim as well as keeps her in place. His other hand is as gentle as can be, drifting between her thighs and seeking. Then finding unerringly as his fingers slide through her folds, slick despite the water and despite her attempt to control herself.

The digits part her folds, stroking and rubbing softly until she bucks into his touch with a soft pleading moan.

“More?”

“Y-yes, please.”

Tom’s teeth scrape over the nape of her neck at the same time as his fingers apply more pressure. Thalia is torn between arching into his touch to finally persuading him to slide his fingers inside and rubbing back against the erection growing firmer against her ass now.

Tom bites her a little harder, at the tender spot where neck and shoulder meet. His fingers, in sharp contrast to his mouth, remain gentle. Elusive even as she tries to wiggle her hips. They skirt past her swollen nub, stroke her slick lips, delve below to the first knuckle only to withdraw and leave her clenching on emptiness.

“Tom, please.”

“How do you beg for it, my precious warrior princess?” His voice is a growly purr, she can’t even find words for how it sounds and what it does to her.

“Please, sir.”

With a low sound of approval, Tom hooks a foot around her leg and spreads her thighs further apart. His mouth continues its ravenous assault on her neck and shoulders, nipping and licking and sucking, and finally his fingers lose some of their teasing gentleness.

He crooks his digit to slide lower and deeper while grinding his palm against her clit, applying just enough pressure.

“Come now, like this, or you won’t get to come for a long time yet.” She hears his order before he tugs on her earlobe with his teeth, and the words trigger an automatic reaction.

It takes only a few more flicks of his wrist and slicks of his tongue for her to clamp tightly around his finger and moan out her release.

“One down, more to come,” she hears Tom murmur through the haze still surrounding her, and he even keeps a straight face despite another groan-worthy pun.

Thalia has barely blinked herself alive again when she’s being moved effortlessly again. The next second, there’s water splashing everywhere and her butt hits the cool edge of the tub.

“Tom, wha-?”

Her protest dies in another moan when Tom scoots her forward and kneels between her thighs to nip his way along them to Promised Land.

“Will you come for me again?” He gazes up at her from between her legs, eyes ablaze with hunger and intense focus, so close to her folds that she can feel his breath.

“Yes. God, yes.”

The fire in his eyes seems to burn brighter before he lowers his face and begins to lap at her. It starts out with little kitten licks, flutters of the tip of his tongue, then longer sweeps as if he’s cherishing an ice cream cone. When her fingers wind into his damp hair and hold on for dear life, Tom delves in for real.

Her whimpers and gasps echo in the bathroom as he drives her higher and higher, even adding the tiniest nips to her swollen lips and little sucks to her needy bundle of nerves. He snakes that unfairly long tongue into her, then drives it up and circles and circles with maddening precision until Thalia comes apart for him a second time.

Panting, she needs a moment to recover, and she knows she’s just made some more memories she’ll never forget. When she can focus on Tom again, he’s licking her essence from his lips, one hand holding her steady while the other is almost reflexively curled around his shaft, stroking.

Fuck, that’s hotter than it should be.

“God, I could get used to this,” she says half to herself, and he quirks his infuriating brows.

“Just imagine how often I could ‘pamper’ you if we spent the rest of our lives together.”

For a moment, he looks as shocked at his remark as she feels. But the next moment, he leans forward to give one of her furled nipples a hearty suck before glancing up.

“Bedroom?” he asks.

“Bedroom.”

She didn’t even intend to get to the naughty part of this day so fast but it feels so right that she doesn’t want to change a thing. There’s always the afternoon and evening for more ways to make him pay his debt. And they’ll talk tomorrow. Or the next day… There’s still time before he goes back to work, still time before she has to answer the teams’ inquiry.

Tom rises to his glorious height, water sluicing over his pecs and abs. He gets out of the tub first, then helps her and rubs her dry with a towel before giving himself the same treatment with obvious haste.

Once more, Thalia is being lifted into his arms, and this time he nearly stumbles because she kisses him with all the fierce longing inside her. God knows how he does it, but he doesn’t break the passionate lip-lock or dump them both on the floor when he stumbles to the bedroom.

She lands on the mattress with a bounce and can barely draw in a breath of anticipation before Tom crawls over her. Letting her feel the weight of his body on hers, he runs the tip of his nose along her throat, jaw and cheek, breathing her in.

“I just want to…I just want to love you right now. No kinky business. Okay, darling?”

Thalia lifts a leg to wind it around his hip and make him settle in the cradle of her hips.

“Okay.”

How did he know that she’s been longing for exactly this? Even she didn’t know it until he uttered the words just now!

Tom backs away a little, kissing her pebbled nipples and brushing his mouth back up to seal it over hers in another heart-melting kiss.

He brings his hands up one by one, linking his fingers with hers and drawing them up to rest on the pillow. For a moment, they stare into each other’s eyes.

Then he angles his pelvis, tightens his grip on her fingers, and slides into her with a slow thrust that has him sinking deeper and deeper until he bottoms out.

Her moan mingles with Tom’s low groan, and she feels him shudder once.

They move in sync, her body rising to meet each of his thrusts, his breath mixing with hers when he kisses her again and again until he’s everywhere and everything.

Another shift makes him hit that magical spot inside her, and Thalia clenches around him, causing him to whimper and lock his jaw.

“Now.”

She holds his gaze. “Now.”

And when he increases his speed and keeps brushing over the place that makes her see stars, she comes for the third time, triggering his own release.

“I should definitely lose bets more often,” he wheezes a few moments later, his chuckle as weak as her sated grin.

If you don’t know the story of Thalia and Professor Tom, or how Professor Evans fits into all this, start at the beginning. Read Educating Thalia on WordPress.

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

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Sunday with Grandad

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Sunday with Grandad

By avenger-nerd-mom

Chris and Emery visit her ailing grandfather. The old man gives them marital advice.

Warnings: language, fluff

Word Count: 2292

Get to know Emery and Chris in their novella Georgia on My Mind

July 2018

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Chris smiles down into the car, helping her get settled and handing her the tray of cupcakes to hold. She reaches up and pulls down on his tie. “This will make him happy.”

“I sure as hell hope so, cuz if Ilaria saw me now, she’d totally give up, thinking I’m a lost cause,” he says, smoothing down the striped tie from the mid-eighties.

Emery rolls her eyes, moving her feet into position on the floorboard. “She’s seen you in the track suits you still wear. Fratboy wanna-be. She gave up hope a long time ago. Why do you think Seb gets all the modeling gigs?”

“Because he’s a pretty boy,” he chuckles, slamming the door closed and tapping the hood as he walks around the front. Loosening the tie, he crawls into the driver’s seat, already sweating in the hot Georgia, early morning sun. “I’m sweatin’ like a sinner in church.”

“Oh honey, bless your heart! You’re pickin’ up some of these Southern phrases!” She praises, stretching out her own drawl.

Turning the car out of the the little drive, he angles onto the empty road. “Dear God, our children will have the most fucked up accents one day,” he laughs, clapping his hand to his chest.

She swats his arm. “Shut up. They’ll be adorable.” Watching in the rearview mirror, she shifts in her seat. “Did I ever tell you about the student I had that spoke with a British accent the first five weeks of school? When I met his parents, I was so shocked to find out they were American!”

Chris chuckles, turning left at the stop sign. “So what? He was just fakin’ it?”

“Yea, he thought it would be cool.” She explains, pointing out a pothole in the road. “He’d been to a study thing at the Harry Potter theme park for a week, and came back with a British accent.” Emery shrugs. “Girls at school fell for it.”

“Smart kid,” he mutters, “why didn’t I think of that?”

“You were a little shit in class, weren’t you?” She asks, peering at him over the top of her sunglasses.

He smirks. “You know those old pictures, with my long floppy hair? It hid my eyes. I slept in class. A lot. Tara would lend me her notes, and Carly helped me figure out stuff I didn’t get. I wasn’t what you’d call an ‘exemplary student.’” He wiggles his eyebrows at her, leaving just one up, in a high arch. “None of my teachers looked as hot as you.” He pats her thigh, squeezing above the knee, exposed in her summer sundress.

She purses her lip and raises her brow in return. “Turn left up here,” she says, with a tilt of her chin. She squints. “You’d have been a kid I would convince to stay after school. You’d avoid it for weeks, and then once you came, and saw the atmosphere, you’d stay. You’d come whenever you didn’t have play practice.” Emery rests her head back against the seat.

He squeezes her leg again, before returning both hands to the wheel to make the turn. “You miss it, don’t you?”

“They had teacher stuff in the dollar bins at Target yesterday,” she pouts. “I bought a few things, but lecturing at conferences and helping to set up after school programs isn’t the same as having my own class, my own kids.”

He cocks his head. “Kitten, if you really want back in the classroom, just say so. You don’t have to go to Toronto with me this fall. I’ll be back for Christmas. I don’t know how much Marvel needs me for the press tour next Spring.” He sighs, pulling into a parking space in front of the old Southern brick home. “I feel like for the first time, we can breathe. Make our own plans. Have a little freedom.”

She bites her lip, removing her seat belt. “I know. I feel it too. No, I love what I do, advocating for good teachers and consulting with districts to make things better.” She sits still when he motions her to stay. He dashes quickly around the front of the car, straightening his tie, and she picks up the conversation where it left off when he opens the door. “I’m always gonna miss the classroom.” She winks, handing him the tray of cupcakes. “Maybe I’ll go back someday, but for now, this is the right thing.”

He balances the treats in one hand, reaching for her purse as she swivels around in the seat, putting one sandaled foot and one braced foot down on the ground. Grabbing the door frame above the window, she pulls herself up. “Stupid boot,” she mutters, balancing and pushing away, stepping awkwardly around the door. She glares at the front steps.

“I can go inside and get a wheelchair?” Chris offers, jumping out of her reach when she swings out to hit him.

“Fuckin’ hate you,” she giggles. “This is your fault, you know? I wouldn’t be in this boot, have tendonitis if it wasn’t for you.”

He laughs, smiling at a nurse who comes out to to greet them. Emery makes small talk with the young woman, passing off the sugary treats to her. Chris takes his wife’s arm and gently guides her up the steps. “Tap dance lessons to impress me didn’t have to turn into some imaginary, wild audition for ‘Dancing with the Stars.’” He reminds her.

“But I was having so much fun,” she stops on the step, pouting. “That would be something, to be on that show.” She shrugs. “I was just having fun dancing for you, and the family talent show. Besides,” she runs her hands down over her waist, smoothing out her sundress. “I lost all that weight that had been bugging me. It was addicting!”

“It was an expensive emergency room visit.”

She hits his chest. “Cheapskate,” she teases.

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Pausing in front of the big, heavy wooden doors, she sighs. “I used to hate this place. When I was little, I had a great aunt here, and it always seemed so scary.” She scratches under her nose as Chris pulls up the door and a blast of air conditioning greets them. “It makes me sad he’s here.”

Chris squeezes her arm, “It’s better here for him, Em. He started a fire; someone could have been hurt.”

“I know, I know,” she whispers as he crosses to reception and announces they are there to visit Grant Thomas, her paternal grandfather. Chris and the nurse chat briefly, before he turns to her, pointing the way down the hall.

“They said he’s had his nap today, and should be awake, reading,” he explains quietly as they pass through the hallways. Some residents sit in their doorways, calling out as they pass by, or sit and play games in little alcoves. Before reaching the room, a nurse stops them, handing them a small plate with three of the cupcakes Emery made. She nods her thanks as Chris reaches his hand up to knock on the door.

“What? What’s that? Who’s there?” an old, tired voice calls out.

Emery caresses the side of Chris’s bearded cheek and pushes the door open. Loudly she announces, “It’s me, Emery, Grandad. I brought Chris today; we wanted to visit awhile.”

The couple step into the crowded space, smelling of tobacco, menthol and vanilla. Chris smiles at the plug-in in the outlet and fights the urge to loosen his tie in the heated room. The old man, weathered and tanned, his skin aged from the sun, is wrapped in a crocheted quilt with a sweatshirt resting around his shoulders.

“Who? Who is it? Turn up the light,” the man commands.

Emery steps forward, resting the cupcakes on the table beside the chair, turning on the lamp. “Grandad, it’s me, Emery. You’ve got it too dark in here.” She leans down and kisses the man on his cheek, feeling the slight stubble. “Can I open the shades? I wanna see you better.”

“The big bad wolf come to visit, eh?” He chuckles, crooking his finger and pointing at Chris. “You’re too damn tall.” He motions his hand for Chris to lower himself.

Chris squats by his chair, reaching out his hand for a shake. “Good to see you again, sir. Emery’s talked all week about coming out to see you!”

Mr. Thomas drops his hand, looking back at Emery, patting the arm of his chair. “Sit, sit.” He looks up at her, caressing back her long hair, running his aged and weak fingers through the ends. “Just like your grandmother’s,” he chokes. “Who’s the fella? It’s not that bloke from the bank is it?”

Emery blushes. “No, Grandaddy, it’s Chris. My husband. The actor? Captain America?”

“Captain, you say?” He points at the photos on the shelf, and Chris stands to retrieve one. “I was in World War II, son. You don’t look old enough to have been a Captain. What’s your unit?”

Chris sighs, having had this conversation with the old man before. He and Emery decided it was easiest for him to answer as Cap might, and the two trade war stories, real and fake, for a good part of the afternoon. After sharing the cupcakes, the man dozes off for a few minutes, jumping awake when he snores too loudly, scaring himself. Emery and Chris have a good laugh, and he joins in with them. “Son, what’s your last name again?”

“Evans, sir,” Chris offers.

“Grant Evans, has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He kicks out his foot, tapping the side of Emery’s boot. “So when’s that gonna be? I wanna be alive to hold my great- grandson. And you aren’t getting any younger, peanut!” He guffaws.

“Granddad!” Emery scoffs, blushing again and smoothing down her dress.

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He turns his attention to Chris. “What’s wrong, soldier? Shooting blanks?” He glowers over his glasses. “Quit wasting your testosterone growing that damn beard and tell your swimmers to do their job, dammit.”

Chris bites back a laugh as Emery hides behind the photo album she was looking through. He salutes the older man. “Yes, sir. I’ll take her right home, and we’ll get right on that after we study scriptures tonight.”

“Good. Good Christian man. Nothing funny about that, no sir.” Mr. Thomas sits up proud. “All my babies been baptized. Raised by good Christian parents. You’ll be no different.” He points at both of them. “None of this nonsense about spoiling a child. You lead by example. Live the Golden Rule. Save your money. Visit Vegas once a year. Nothing too fancy,” he advises. “Simple. Like that tie. Good lookin’ tie, son.”

Emery smiles as Chris runs his hand proudly over the tie her grandfather had given him for his Broadway premiere.

“Sounds like a good life, Granddad,” Emery says wistfully, nodding at the nurse when she quietly enters the room. “It looks like it’s time for you to get down to dinner, so it’s time for us to go.”

He scowls at the nurse. “Trying to escape, are ya? Next time you come back, bring me something fried in lard. None of this food has flavor.” He pulls his walker around in front, rocking a few times in his seat, before pulling himself up to an upright position. He chuckles as Emery does the same, tottering in her boot and grabbing the front of the walker. “Looks like you need this thing more than me.” He smirks at Chris. “She get hurt chasin’ you around the bedroom?”

“All redheads. They’re all alike,” Chris laughs. “Can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

“Yep, boy, that’s right,” the old man chuckles, leading them down to the dining room before saying their goodbyes.

Emery kisses the old man on his cheek, whispering, “I’ll visit again soon.”

He pats her back, playing with the ends of her hair again. “Captain America, huh? You picked a good one, peanut. Don’t let him get away. You have pretty grandbabies to play at my feet, ya hear?”

“Yes, sir,” she smiles, holding the tears at bay.

Chris turns to salute the old man, wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist as the nurse leads Mr. Thomas to dinner.

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“Come on, Mrs. Evans. Sounds like we’re trying to make a baby again tonight. Can’t disappoint the old man,” he laughs as Emery leans on his side, walking down the stairs and out to the car. “Don’t want him thinking I’ve got faulty swimmers.”

Emery lifts her long hair off her neck allowing a cool breeze to caress her skin. “Mr. Evans, I’m feeling adventurous. Instead of driving home, let’s just drive out to the campground!”

He stops in his tracks. “We don’t have any of our stuff with us.”

“So?” She taunts. “If we go now, we can have the place to ourselves for two whole days, before the reunion. We can get some stuff at Target, necessities, and you can come back later and get the rest of our stuff while I help Mom get things unpacked before everyone else arrives.”

Chris lifts her foot and boot, swinging them around and placing them in the car before closing the door. Walking around quickly, he climbs in the hot car, and starts the air and the ignition. “Emery Thomas Evans! I can’t figure out if this is a ploy for two days of uninterrupted baby making, or another trip to Target for teacher supplies?”

“Both,” she giggles as she rolls down her window, feeling the breeze in her hair as Chris heads for the highway leading out of town.

Watching the traffic in the rearview mirror, Chris asks point blank. “Emery, who’s the ‘bloke’ from the bank?”

Read more about Emery and Chris in their novella, Georgia on My Mind, and their story collections

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Goals

prologue goals july 8

Goals

Collaboration by devikafernando and avenger-nerd-mom

AU Fiction

Professor Tom Hiddleston and Thalia Bareo place a wager on the FIFA World Cup 2018 outcome

Warnings: language, fluff, teasing

Word Count: 1725

This little drabble doesn’t offer any answers to “What’s Thalia been up to?” or “Who is Thalia dating?” This is just a summer Saturday, a little peek into her life…

If you don’t know the story of Thalia and Professor Tom, or how Professor Evans fits into all this, start at the beginning. Read Educating Thalia on WordPress.

Prologue 2018

“Bloody hell, that was clearly offside!”

With an indignant half-yell, Tom sets his chips bag down on the table with somewhat too much force. To his right, Thalia shouts her support.

“At least by a foot! Is the side referee blind or what?”

God, she truly is the perfect football companion, Tom thinks to himself with a grin. He’s infinitely glad that he can share the experience with her. Still giddy that England has made it to the quarter finals of the FIFA World Cup 2018, he’s practically bouncing in his seat with energy. He’s already dashed off to the loo twice, feeling like a little boy again, and eating as well as drinking too much—but so is the excited, gorgeous woman on the couch next to him.

They are watching the match at her place, and though she still didn’t have a TV when she moved into this apartment, Tom quickly rectified the situation. Just so they could follow England’s journey to victory, he’s bought a huge flat-screen. Thalia, on the other hand, has invested in face paint, little flags, and football—correction, soccer—jerseys of the teams that have her support.

cookies goals

Tom smirks to himself and shakes his head a little, hiding his expression behind another cookie. Thalia’s Latina side has been showing itself repeatedly the past few weeks. She’s been vocally supportive of every single Central- and South-American team, especially Mexico and Brazil, often growing animated while watching the matches. He’s been ribbed endlessly—and enjoyed the hell out of it; not least because their excitement during the match inevitably leads to after-match romps in the sheets.

Now that there are only European teams left, Thalia has switched sides and gifted her loyalty to the English team alongside him, and it never fails to make him smile how enthusiastically she cheers—and curses—for them as well.

“What are you smiling about so smugly?” Her raspy voice interrupts his thoughts.

Tom leans over to press a rather chaste, smacking kiss onto her luscious lips, startling her into a squeak. “Nothing in particular. And everything at once.” He steals one of her marshmallows, gobbles it up and holds his finger out to let her lick the sweet powder from the digit—which she does with blazing temptation in her eyes. He winks at her and says, “Hold that thought,” and he hurriedly refocuses on the second half of the match. “I’m just so happy to be sharing all this with you.” Tom gestures broadly, loving it that she returns his smile now.

She opens her mouth to reply but then both of them freeze for a second, eyes glued to the screen.

“Goal!”

They shout it simultaneously, exchanging a disbelieving-overjoyed glance before taking in the replays of the header that puts England firmly in the lead. With a score of 2:0, they’re as good as through to the semifinals now.

“Oh my god, oh my god, fucking yes!” Tom jumps up from the couch, nearly upending his popcorn bowl while he pumps his fist into the air.

jersey goals

Thalia is clapping and whooping, and his eyes are drawn to her outfit. While he has opted for comfy, holey sweatpants and a faded England jersey he’s saved all the way from his twenties, Thalia is wearing black yoga pants and a very new team jersey that’s so tight it stretches over her ample curves like a second skin. Dammit, she’s delicious like this, eyes glowing, hair wild, cheeks flushed, and bosom heaving.

Ball not boobs, Hiddleston, he reminds himself and tears his gaze away from her generous breasts with great effort.

They settle down after some more cheering, their hands reaching for the popcorn at the same time.

“What’s the goal scorer’s name again?” Thalia asks. “He’s kinda cute.”

Scandalized, Tom snaps his head around. “Woman! He’s 22! He’s just a boy!”

She shrugs and lifts a saucy brow at him. “So? You’re hardly in a position to get your underwear in a twist about age differences, Professor.”

For a moment, he can only splutter and gape at her, then he narrows his eyes at her smirk. Oh, he’ll punish her for all that sass, after the game is over…

Refocusing on the quarter final just as Sweden is unable to turn a really good shot at the goal into an actual point for them, Tom rests his hand on Thalia’s thick thigh, fingers digging in possessively.

He feels her shudder once and snuggle closer, though she keeps her attention on the TV. All right, all right, he knows he shouldn’t feel a slight stab of jealousy over a football player she might find ‘cute’, but it does bring out his possessive side. Tom lets his fingers glide a little higher on her thigh. He’s been trying all this time not to glance at a certain corner of the room and to keep his jealousy at bay. A corner with a shelf that holds three framed photographs he can’t stand to look at for long.

Thalia with a now older child, Avery, both of them making silly faces at the camera. Avery in a colorful butterfly costume from probably some school play or other. And the third photo, which he avoids looking at the most…of Thalia, Avery and her father, Professor Evans. Tom knows that Thalia has been keeping in touch with both of them and spends quite some time with them when her work schedule allows. And he shouldn’t begrudge her that. He’s knows better now, doesn’t he? He rubs over the small scar on the back of his knuckle. He fucking knows that he can’t go all Neanderthal and throw her over his shoulder to haul her away to a cave and keep her away from the rest of the world. But still, it stings.

This isn’t the time for pondering and moping, dammit. It is her apartment, although his touches also fill the space. Rare tomes and artifacts from their travels together. And the bed they share. He cocks his head. Let the other man have a photo. He has the real thing..

Downing the last of his beer with his free hand and setting the can down a bit forcefully, Tom straightens his shoulders and puffs up his chest. Just when he pays attention to the match again, a Swedish player crumbles to the ground, clutching his ankle and grimacing in pain.

“Oh, sod off, you bleeding actor you!” He grouses and thumps his fist against his thigh before throwing his hand up in disgust, displaying his long fingers. “That was barely a touch, there’s no need to pretend you’re dying.”

Thalia snort-snickers and nudges him with her elbow. “Takes a performer to know one, huh?”

He relaxes a bit to snicker too, watching as the referee gives a free kick to Sweden. “I’m just glad we’ve seen fewer fouls this time than in 2014,” he says, calming down somewhat and hoping fervently that the free kick won’t provide the opposing team with a goal chance. “The VAR introduction seems to help.”

Once the situation is diffused, he and Thalia discuss the Video Assistant Referee system, Tom weighing in with some previous experiences from club team matches which Thalia doesn’t usually watch.

“But I bet a lot of fans and even players are blaming the VAR for their team going out of the tournament,” she adds and devours another of the mini-sandwiches that Tom has prepared as a snack.

“Mhm, probably.” Tom leans over to lick a smudge of mayonnaise off the corner of her mouth, then lets his tongue glide leisurely over her lips. When they part, he delves in quickly, laps at her tongue and draws back to savor the taste with a quiet hum.

Focus, he orders himself, seeing Thalia pull herself together and redirect her gaze to the television too.

“Speaking of bets,” he says, “it looks like I’ll soon be enjoying a day to do with you whatever I please.”

Thalia baited him into betting at the beginning of the World Cup. She swore France with all its young, dynamic players would win this time, but of course Tom insisted it would be England. So they’ve bet that whoever wins gets the opportunity to do with the other one whatever they want for a whole day. The wicked possibilities have him rubbing his hands together, but Thalia just scoffs and rolls her eyes at him.

“Not so fast. England hasn’t even reached the semis yet.”

The next moment, Tom whoops in glee as the referee’s whistle indicates that the match is over.

“Yes, we have. Yes, we fucking have, darling!”

He turns to her for a high five, which Thalia gives him with a shake of her head but also a wide, happy grin.

Tom hauls her closer with one arm and pulls her onto his lap, not even caring that the players’ celebrations on screen are blocked from view.

“Now, why don’t I show you how a real man celebrates a victory, and give you a taste of what’s to come when I’ll have you at my beck and call for a whole day?” he purrs, letting his voice go lower and deeper, and feeling her shiver in his arms.

“Yes, please…Sir.”

She adds the last word softly, after a brief hesitation. Now that they’ve mostly moved away from the ‘Professor and student’ thing and that Thalia has grown more mature, they don’t often return to their slight dom-sub tendencies from the beginnings. But whenever they do, both of them delight in the additional thrill.

Grasping the globes of her lush ass, Tom shifts her even closer and nuzzles her neck. He inhales her orchid scent, one that’s been haunting him for ages. When she makes a soft, contented sound, he turns the nuzzling into kisses, then gives in to the urge and opens his mouth over her pulse point to suck a mark. Biting down slightly until she squirms, he lets one hand wander into her unruly curls to pull her head back for even better access, continuing to lavish her neck with licks and sucks.

The raucous cheering on TV fades into the background as the fingers of his other hand slide beneath the waist of her yoga pants. She leans forward, burrowing his face in her cleavage, and removes his glasses, tossing them to the side table.

If you don’t know the story of Thalia and Professor Tom, or how Professor Evans fits into all this, start at the beginning. Read Educating Thalia on WordPress.

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

Birthday Sweets

birthday sweets june 13 2018.jpg

Birthday Sweets

an Emery&Chris story

by avenger-nerd-mom

On a secluded boat dock, Chris and Emery celebrate his 37th birthday together

Warnings: NSFW, language, cunnilingus, anal fingering, intercourse

Word Count 2781

June 2018

Humming a little tune, Chris clears up their trash, throwing the items back in the picnic basket. Looking at his watch, he gets a little concerned, wondering what’s keeping Emery so long. Tossing the bread crumbs in the lake he watches as small fish swarm around, trying to get their fill. He smiles when he hears her steps pounding down the dock. Turning to watch her, his heart fills with pride at her beauty and grace, hidden under a flirty summer sundress, and criss-crossed tan lines on her shoulders. His face lights up. “Why didn’t you just go behind the tree?” he teases.

She stops dead in her tracks, hand on her hip, the other hiding behind her back. “Because, I’m a lady,” she quotes, “that’s why!”

Falling forward gently from his squatting position, he lands on his knees, resting his fists on his thighs. He effects the same accent from one of their favorite Disney movies, and asks, “What’s hiding behind your back?”

She giggles. Returning her voice to her casual Southern drawl, she replies, “Well, I know you said you didn’t want cake until all the family comes down this weekend, so-” Emery swings her arm around, presenting a small gift bag, “here’s a little something till then.”

She steps forward, kicking off her sandals and handing it to him, before carefully sitting on the edge of the plaid blanket. He peers down into the bag and lets out a whoop of excitement. “From Leopold’s?” He asks, pulling out a travel container of ice cream.

She grins, happily nodding and pulling out two spoons from her pocket. She’d arranged for his favorite flavors to be packaged up from their favorite shop in Savannah to make the journey without him even knowing. “There’s more up in the cabin. This is the rum cake one.”

Pulling the lid off carefully, he licks the smear of melted cream stuck to the top. “You really are the best birthday party planner ever, Em. How’d I get so lucky to find you?”

She shrugs her shoulders as he rocks back again, landing on his butt and crossing his legs ‘indian-style’ to sit on the dock. “We have had a good day, haven’t we? Sleeping in, hiking, swimming-”

“Getting sunburned-”

“We’ll put more aloe on later,” she says, dipping her spoon in the small cup when he passes it to her. “I kept telling you to put on more sunscreen.”

He points his spoon to the water, pointing out where a fish  jumped out above the surface. She nods, acknowledging she saw it. “Just more proof you’ll make a great mom someday. You’ve had plenty of practice with me.” She bristles at his comment. “I know, I know. You’re not my mother,” he chuckles, bumping her shoulder. “But you are good at taking care of people, making them feel special.” He waves his hand wildly. “All this… I feel so loved.”

She scoots forward, dropping her legs over the edge of the dock. “Because you are.”

“I am, and I feel it every day. I am really lucky to have you.” He holds the cup to her again, and she takes another spoonful. He watches as she slowly licks the spoon, savoring the flavor before pulling it off with her tongue. “Still can’t believe you rented out the whole damn place; it’s awesome.”

“Well, you were fussing on me to be more extravagant and relax about money. I didn’t want anything for myself, so spending it on you seemed logical. Besides, it’s not like I really rented out the whole place. Another couple was supposed to be here, but the owner said Saturday when I talked to her they canceled, and no one else was booked. She said it’s ‘cause of the draught, and the water is too low for boats to get back up in here.” Emery reaches for another spoonful of ice cream. She yelps when a fish nibbles her toe, and she kicks her feet like crazy to scare them away. “That’s when I told the lady not to rent out the other cabins, and we settled on a price.” She swipes away a dragonfly buzzing around her head.

“When I told you to spend money, I didn’t mean on me. But I like we enjoy this together. It’s good we like the same outdoorsy things.”

She bites her lip to hide her smile. Turning towards him, she lays her spoon down, finished with the ice cream. She raises her eyebrow. “I like doing other kinds of outdoor things with you as well.”

Chris laughs, the sound bouncing off the water, and echoing back. “Oh, really?” He sets down the finished ice cream cup. “What did you have in mind?”

Emery grabs his ankle and untucks his feet, pulling his leg out straight as she begins to climb up his body. He leans back on his elbows, watching her prowl. She pauses, tugging on the hem of his shorts. “These pants are ridiculous,” she says.

“Scott picked them out,” he smiles.

She shakes her head. “Ya know, I knew from the first night we met, I liked you. Wanna know why?” He nods and she continues. “One of the first things you said to me, that got you in trouble, was when you quoted dating advice from your brother. I thought, ‘that’s a guy that loves his family no matter what’ and I knew we’d get along. But, uh,” she runs her hands over the buttons on his shirt, “don’t take fashion advice from your gay brother either.”

“I thought I looked good? You complained I looked too much like a ‘dude bro’ the other day at lunch?” He smiles, watching her hands as she pushes against his chest, flattening him to the dock.

She rolls her eyes, resting her body on his belly and sitting up. He places his hands on her thigh, her skin warm from the summer sun. “That restaurant was too fancy for you to be wearing workout gear and a frat-boy ball cap… And yes, you do look good right now.” She reaches down and scratches his scruffy chin. “Like ‘Harvard Hottie’ grew up and became a professor. I like it.” She moans softly as his hands grace up her legs, higher and higher.

“Em!” In total disbelief, he asks, “Did you leave something back at the cabin?”

“Yup!” She pops the letter ‘p,’ lifting her skirt and flashing him, showing off she’s already wet.

His hands slide under her, lifting her from his chest. “I really like this new, playful, horny as hell, wife I have. I should turn thirty-seven all the time,” he growls, bringing her forward.

She scoots her knees along, following his lead, and he watches her excited smile grow. The fading sunlight casts a warm glow as it drifts through the trees. He wants to freeze time, to make every moment count. He kneads her ass, pulling at the soft flesh. Pushing her higher, she lifts her knees over his shoulders one at a time, her feet resting on his biceps and toes curling under his arms. Wrapping his hands over her thighs, he spreads her succulent pink lips. “Is this present just for me?”

He kisses her thigh on the left, as she murmurs her approval. Blowing out cool air across her exposed sex, he moves across to kiss her on the right. He lifts his head, running the tip of his nose against the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Her skin rises into goosebumps despite the humid air.

“You still hungry?” she asks, voice husky and skittish with anticipation.

“I believe I am.” He paws at her with his strong hands, bringing them together to meet, pushing his thumbs against her clit as she gasps. Forcing her down, her ass rests on his clavicles while his tongue dips in the sweet well. With a languorous lick from front to back, he grips her thighs firmly. Holding her tight so she can’t squirm away, he repeats the action again and again. Her sweet juice floods his tongue, replacing the faint flavoring of the ice cream treat. “So lickable,” he moans quietly, probing gently with his tongue.

Leaning back with her hands grabbing his pecs, she grinds herself against his mouth and chin. He knows the beard is an added sensual bonus. Peeling his eyes open, he sees nothing but the setting sun, low in the sky, shades of pink and purple. His attentions bring forth quiet pants and cries from his lovely wife, and the sound causes a tightening in his pants. “Louder, Kitten, there’s no one around to hear you.”

“Mmmhm,” Emery moans, breathing hard and gripping the sides of his ribcage. Her manicured nails scrape his shirt and he wished there was less clothing between them.

Slowly blinking his eyes closed, his tongue laps through her again. Tasting her inner core, his nose grazes her clit. She jumps in his arms, leaning forward and pushing his head away from the sensitive spot. “Baby,” he chuckles, opening his mouth wider for a soothing lick, easing the sensitive spot.

Wanting to thoroughly please her, he closes his mouth sloppily over her lips, teasing with his tongue. Imitating a French kiss, he explores her delicious pussy. His beard is wet with her dew and he swallows the flood, wondering how long she’ll last.

Gently she reaches down, caressing the top of his head, running her hands through his hair. “You’re gonna make me come.” Massaging his scalp, she lifts his head, pushing him deeper into the wet pool, barely able to breathe.

Chris’s hands grip her ass, squeezing and pulling her close. Her hands at the back of his head, tug and pull his hair, moving his head back and forth. His tongue flicks in and out, caressing against her clit and against the side of her swollen lips. She falls forward, supporting herself with one hand while the other still plays in his hair. Her shift brings her closer to his mouth and lifts her ass into the air. His hands clench the rounded bubble, pulling her cheeks apart as his tongue continues to work. Trapped under her, his movement is limited. But it’s the best place to be! Her sounds grow louder as she rides his face, grinding in a circular sway. Gathering her slick, he wets his thumb and brushes across her taint at the same time his lips gently suction over her clit. Tenderly, he tortures her with his mouth, sucking and pulling an orgasm from her as he teases her pulsing asshole with his thumb.

Seduced by the added pressure, her tiny cries grow louder. Leaning forward on both elbows, her pussy pulls away. Lifting his head, he keeps their contact as she calls out, “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Her legs spread wider and his thumb eases in, up to his knuckle. The release of fluids is too much to swallow, but he laps up what he can as she continues to ride his face. She pushes her ass against his palm, his thumb gliding in deeper and his lips slide free from her dripping cunt. “Fuck me, now,” she purrs, laughing at her command.

His beard is liberally coated with her runoff and his thumb remains trapped inside her hole. Crawling out from under her, he quickly swipes his face against the plaid picnic blanket. “We really should camp more often,” he chuckles. He slowly rolls his hand around, twisting out his thumb, watching the tiny hole close back up. He playfully nips his teeth across her tight ass, giving it a smack for good measure. Rolling to his side, seeing her stance, his stomach tightens.

Her beautiful backside is in the air, and she’s positioned her legs back together. Her spine arches and she’s resting forward, collapsed on her arms. The flowered sundress is bunched around her waist and one of the straps hangs down her arm. Glistening in the setting sun, her ripe juice runs down her inner thighs. “Don’t move,” he growls, unbuckling his belt quickly and pulling his pants down to his knees. With a few quick pumps of his hand, he’s hard and ready. Crawling towards her, he leans forward, running his tongue up her thigh and catching a drop of her sweet release. He positions himself behind her, guiding his hard cock through the wet mess.

“Chris, don’t play, come on and fuck me,” she says, reaching over her shoulder and twisting her hair up, off her neck.

He can see beads of sweat laced along her neckline, and he bends over her, blowing a cooling breath across the back of her neck and shoulders as he slips his thick head between her lips. The walls of her pussy hug his cock, sucking him in, molding around him. Made for each other. A perfect fit. “What a gift,” he sighs as he pushes deeper, bottoming out. He stills while she shifts her weight, bunching the blanket up under her knees. He looks around, having forgotten they’re outside, on a boat dock in a deserted campground. Fireflies have begun to zoom around as the sky turns to dusk and tree frogs begin their nightly sounds. “Do you see this, Em? It’s beautiful.”

She giggles, lifting her head up to look around, and back at him. “It is; we should fuck outside more often.” Her mirth rings out and she begins to slide off and on his cock.

Chris guides her, one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulder, pulling her into him. The sound of their skin slapping together and her whines each time he thrusts into her, expelling her breath, fills the night. As their lovemaking continues, he senses her frustration, knowing her so well. His knees are killing him on the hard, wooden surface, but neither of them are quitters. He slides his hand from her shoulder, grasping at her breast. Working his fingers under the dress neckline, he pulls down, exposing her, pinching and fondling the tight peak. He begins to whisper words of encouragement, his other hand sliding between her legs. Emery rocks back into him, spreading her legs, presenting her clit as he wraps his fingertips around the small bundle of nerves. Her whines grow, each being pushed from her body. “Fuck me, Evans,” she demands into the night.

He chuckles again. “So tense, Kitten. We got this. Relax, baby. Relax.”

Her slick pussy works his cock to perfection, holding him snug and he can feel his own climax building. She changes positions again and he smiles when her hand joins his, pressing over her hood as his hand swirls quickly around her clit.

He drops his other hand to the dock to support them as she begs him to go faster. He thrusts harder and deeper, tilting into her, hitting her soft walls, buried with each stroke. Giving as much as she’s taking, her body slows as her orgasm begins and she begs, “Don’t stop. Too perfect.”  

Pounding in and out, each stroke now takes him out of her body,  bouncing across her rim before sliding back in. Hard and fast. Strong and deep. The pulsing of her cunt around him is tight and her noises echo in his ears, bouncing from the trees and water. His unstoppable force rises, and he is helpless against its’ tide. Lost in her own orgasm, he joins her, the feeling so intense, his cries match hers. Filled with his seed, their lovemaking, she falls forward on the dock, holding his wrist and pulling him down with her. He collapses over her, careful not to drop his full weight. Her body still trembles under his as she falls back to reality. “Happy Birthday,” she sings out, light and airy.

He kisses the back of her neck, wondering if this is it. Did they just start a life? Thirty-seven and he still feels he’s failed, not being a father yet. Not giving her what she wants most; their child.

“You’re thinking too loudly. It would be a great birthday gift, no doubt, but don’t stress on it.” She lifts her shoulder and he rolls off. She turns to face him. “Shhh… Stop thinking,” she says as she caresses across his forehead. “It’s fuckin’ hot out here,” she states.

He rolls his eyes. “It’s a long walk to the shower house.”

“Are you suggesting we skinny-dip, dear husband?” She lifts her head, resting her chin on her palm. With her other hand, she begins to unbutton his shirt.

“Sounds like a good plan,” he agrees, reaching across to unzip her dress. “Another present to unwrap… More birthday sweets!”

Read more about Emery and Chris in their novella, Georgia on My Mind, and their story collections

Copyright © 2018 avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved.

Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

Private Dancer

private dancer june 5 2018.jpg

Private Dancer

By avenger-nerd-mom

Chris has a late night encounter

Warnings: NSFW, public nudity, dom/sub tendencies, anal fingering, denied orgasm, talk of bondage

Word Count: 3884

July 2018

Head back against the wall,Chris slouches in the old metal chair, too tired and achy to move. He waves goodbye to the others, leaving for the night, and swipes his hand out to the side, hoping his grasp will reach the water bottle in the chair next to him.

“Go home, man, it’s enough for one day,” a voice calls out.

“Yea, yea, I know,” he guffaws, the tiredness seeped in his vocal chords. “I might run through it again.”

The bottle pressed to his lips, the water is cool as it runs down the back of his throat, refreshing. Just when he thinks he can’t take the heat, the air conditioning in the worn down building kicks on, causing the windows to rattle. He takes another swallow, running the back of his arm across his forehead, chilling his skin as the sweat collects in the hairs on his arms.

“Too fuckin’ old for this, Evans,” he mutters to himself.

He downs the rest of the water quickly, grunting in pain as he leans forward to untie his shoes. He lazily pulls one off and it clunks to the scuffed floors. The lights click off overhead and he calls out, “Hey! I’m still in here!”

Static screeches through the stereo system and a familiar guitar riff fills the room. A spot light shines down from above on a form in the center of the room, a curvy figure outlined in the shadows as her hips sway to the first beat. He bites back a smile as her heels click on the floor, executing a perfect spin before falling to her knees, crawling towards him. On the prowl, she keeps to the cadence of the song, a seductress he’s never seen before.

Her stance wide, hips sashaying from side to side, she taps the rhythm and stomps in perfect syncopation. A halo of curls swirl around her, a wave of red, blazing fire, hiding her face. Unable to see her expressions, he wants to watch her feet, the sound clear and crisp, in strict, guarded movements. But his eyes are drawn to the sweet jiggle of her ass in the high cut booty shorts and her strained nipples against the tight t-shirt, cut and knotted between her firm breasts. Her hands run over her body, wanting and needing, the music pulsing through her, creating a heated sexual energy in the room.

Every move is practiced and fluid, almost effortless. Yet even in the cold room, he can see sweat collecting on her lower back, at the waist of the form fitting shorts. She’s working hard, and has his attention. Resting back in the chair, he palms over his hardening cock, turned on by this show, just for him. His private dancer.

He aches to touch her. Realizing he can glimpse her backside in the mirror behind her, he enjoys fruitfully all the bouncing muscles rolling under the athletic strain of her performance. As she stomps, reaching forward gracefully, he wonders how he hadn’t noticed the cane on the floor before. The way she grips the core causes him to groan quietly, shifting uncomfortably now in his seat. His tired aches are forgotten as she crawls across the floor some more, sliding along on knee pads. With a final click of the long staff against the hardwood floor, the music ends as mysteriously as it began.

He jumps from his seat, in wild applause as she stays bowed before him, breathing heavily and slightly panting. Padding forward in his socks, he swoops his hand under her waist and swings her up to her feet. Still hidden under the mass of hair, he pushes it back from her face, her blue eyes shining bright. “Holy fuck, that was awesome! The sexiest thing I’ve ever-”

Her mouth closes over his, swallowing his words, a hard, forced kiss, teeth gnashing against teeth. His arms pull her tight, his body flush against hers. Heat. Adrenaline. Pure sex appeal. His hands roam over her lusty ass, down the backs of her thighs as he tries to get closer, to crawl into her as she pulls and tugs his plump lips between her teeth, her tongue diving into the far reaches of his mouth. Clawing at his hair, holding him close, her leg slides up his, wrapping behind his thigh, holding him even closer. His hard cock twitches, grinding against her barely clothed body.

With a satiated sigh, she pulls away, an almost shy smile creeping across her face. “Fuck, that was sexy,” she whispers.

Her throaty twang reaches to his dick, causing another jerk, pushing into her. Holding her ass closely, his hands creep under the fabric cupping her rounded cheeks. She’s so wet, already primed. He begins to lower his wife to the hardwood floor, ready to take her here and now.

“Evans, you aren’t doing me on the hardwood floor,” Emery laughs, fighting against him to remain standing.

He looks around quickly. “There’s dance mats.”

In a quick spin, she extricates herself from his hold, “There’s also three cameras from different angles filming the dance, and your reaction.”

He grabs her hand, spinning her close to him, sliding his hand from her knee up her thigh, gripping her waist as he thrusts against her. “This is my reaction.”

“I know; I saw,” she giggles. “Thank god you didn’t whip it out and keep stroking.”

Chris looks around, seeing for the first time the tiny red glow from a camera light. “Let’s just turn off the damn cameras?”

“How about we drag our achy, sore bodies to the hotel room I booked across the street?”

“You did not?” He incredulously intones.

“I did too,” she smiles wildly, gliding and tapping away from him, just out of his reach. She runs around, turning off the cameras and tucking them under her arms while he puts his street shoes on. “Shontae just said to lock up. She’ll be back in an hour or so to close up for the night.”

He takes the cameras from her hands, catching her fingers in his grasp and brushing his thumb over her sparkling wedding ring. “Shontae. She helped throw this together? I didn’t know you could still tap.” He remembers now pictures around her parents’ home of various dance recitals and years as a cheerleader. He chuckles as she lowers herself into the metal chair. “All the bruises, and aching muscles? That wasn’t from working out with Don at Drive495?” He’d hated knowing while he was running scripts and warming up for evenings on Broadway, that she was often getting in afternoon workouts with his pal, Sebastian Stan. He didn’t care she’d lost fifteen pounds, and enjoyed the routine. Jealousies run deep…

“Oh, no, I was still working out with Don and Seb,” she replies, running her hands down her sculpted abs, “but Shontea came into the city once a week to meet me at a studio, and she and another trainer worked with me to get this little surprise ready for you.” She lazily points to a bag in the corner while sliding off the knee pads. “Can you bring me my shoes? I’ll walk across the street dressed like a hooker, but I’m not ruining my taps.”

She hugs the heels to her chest and he chuckles, scooting his feet across the floor to get her bag. He groans, reaching to pick it up. Crossing the room again, he’s afraid he wouldn’t be able to pull his tired, pained body up out of the chair if he sits again, so he leans against the wall, watching her slide on a pair of athletic sandals. “How long you been working on this surprise?”

Her brow furrows, as she presses her hands to her thighs, pushing herself to stand up. She winces. From her bag, she pulls out a water bottle and aspirin, offering him some as well.

“Last fall? When you started dancing again? After some classes last fall in Atlanta, I realized my body could do it, so I came up with this crazy plan last December.” She tilts her head back, swallowing the little pills, massaging the nape of her neck. She raises her eyebrow. “The room has a giant jet tub…” Changing back to the subject of dance, she continues. “I thought it would be a fun surprise. Give me something to do while we were in New York…” her voice trails off as she places her hand in his.

He throws her bag over his shoulder, leading her to the door. Pulling it closed, he makes sure it locks and they slowly walk down the stairs to the street below, each hiding the muffled “ooffs” of muscle aches and pains. “Too damn old,” he whispers again.

“Speak for yourself, I’m in my prime,” she chuckles, nearly stumbling into him when he stops on the step.

“You just keep getting better with age,” Chris admits, throwing his arm around her neck as they step out of the building, onto the sidewalk. “You really do look like a hooker, very Julia Roberts, Pretty Woman.”

“Thanks,” she says, tucking into his side and looking down the walk for observers. With a quick kiss on his lips, she shakes out her hair, untamed and free. No cars coming, they jog across the road quickly. “This place is probably used to it,” she chuckles, pulling open the door to the older city hotel.

“Right? It would be my luck to get caught by a photographer right about now, though. Hidden on a back page in the Boston Herald… ‘Hometown Hero Up to Old Tricks.’” He laughs, following her through the lobby, just a step behind to watch her ass. The clerk nods, a blush reaching the younger man’s cheeks. Chris tries his best to hide his scowl. Jealousies run deep…

“Caught with hookers here before, honey?” She teases, shaking her head disapprovingly at him. Goosing her as they wait for the elevator to arrive, she turns away from him, shaking her head and pushing away his hands.

“Not hookers, but…” He decides it’s best to let the sentence trail of when she raises her eyebrow higher than he thought humanly possible.

When the box opens, he advances towards her and she gracefully steps back. It clicks in his head she’d been carrying herself well, proud and confident, for the last few months. Finally growing into the role as a celebrity icon herself. Working out and dancing had been good for her, primal and empowering. The doors close and he pushes her against the wall. Rolling her eyes, she reaches around him, and punches in the number for the top floor. With her back to the wall, his hands grip her waist, his thumb caressing over her exposed belly button. He delights in the catch of her breath, the tiny goosebumps that bubble across her skin. Looking down on her petite, svelte figure, he beams with pride. “What is this anyway?” he teases, his hands ghosting up her muscled form, tugging at the knotted fabric between her breasts.

Her eyes drop to his hands, and he fumbles momentarily before the fabric falls free, exposing her breasts. Keeping her blocked from any surveillance, his hands cup the heavy globes, squeezing the warm flesh, feeling her nipples pebble under the caress of his palms.

“You better fuck me good tonight, Evans,” she warns, her voice heavy and rich.

The door buzzes and opens. She tugs the fabric together, clutching it to her chest, barely covering herself and walks around him.

He covers his face in his hands, chuckling, running out of the elevator to follow her down the hall. “You say that like you’ve been disappointed lately-”

She turns to him, dropping her hands, the ripped t-shirt falling open, only covering one of her breasts as the other half falls to her side. “Let’s just say we’ve both been too tired, and focused on the wrong things.”

“Ouch,” he whispers seeing a quick blaze of anger behind her eyes. He steps in front of her, hoping to keep his prize from view on security cams.

From a pocket on her bag, she pulls out a room key and slides it over the keypad, gaining access to the room. Blocking the door, her hand snakes out and grabs his belt buckle. “When we step through this door, for tonight, I want all this boring, ‘married life,’ ‘day to day’ chat to stop. I just wanna fuck, and forget the world tonight.”

Her eyes darken and her features are harsh under the poor lighting. Red curls billow around her angel face and she’s so beautiful, his love for her grows a bit more. In his silence, entranced by her prowess, she has begun to loosen his belt, slowly pulling it from the loops.  Visions and memories flood his mind, and he profoundly hears her words. With a moment’s hesitation, he bows his head, making a fast decision, her song choice still rolling through his head. He places his hand firmly around her wrist, stopping the tug of his belt. “Then I’ll damn well take care of my Kitten, my bride, no complaints?”

Emery’s hands drop to her side. Her smile grows, understanding his unspoken words. “Don’t get too carried away. Remember to strip me before you tie me up with that thing.” She smirks. “Unlike last time,” she murmurs under her breath.

Already challenging his authority. He grins, choking back his sigh. She’s too damn hard headed to really play his games, but they have their own fun. A freedom he’d never had before. Love and trust. The true key to happiness. Feeling his need rise, an inner beast raging inside him, he can’t remember the last time they truly had time to play.

Reading his mind, she whispers, “No one else is on this floor tonight, and we have late check out tomorrow. Now cut the bullshit, Evans. It’s like you’re stalling,” she taunts.

Reaching his hand over her shoulder, his eyes grow dark in an instant as a memory of her tied up once before skates through his thoughts. His fist pushes the door open. He steps towards her and she doesn’t budge. Testing him. “In. Strip. Slowly.”

He watches her entire presence change. She softens, ready to have her needs met at his command. She dutifully turns, her hips swishing from side to side, dropping the cut t-shirt to the floor as she strolls in. Chris flicks on the light switch, and two dim lamps in the room react, setting a mood. She doesn’t turn to look at him as she slides out of her sandals, leaving them beside the bed. He swipes his phone screen, calling up some music, her dance song of choice filling the air. The little shorts barely cover her ass, having ridden up between her cheeks as they ran across from the studio. As he watches her roll the second-skin fabric over her hips and down her legs, he undresses quickly as well. He can see she’s already wet, the clothing having been pressed into her sex. Faint tan lines mark across her back from different pool outings with all their nieces and nephews and trips to Georgia, to the lake house. He tries not to laugh at her white ass, blindingly pale, compared to the light tan.

“I’m still more tan than you,” she says quietly.

“How the fuck do you do that?” He asks, walking up to her quietly and running his hand down her spine. Her shoulders quake as a shiver runs over her. “Know my thoughts?”

“Magic.”

“Oh, I’ll show you ‘magic,’” he replies. “Bend over.” His hand presses against her back as she complies. “Rest your palms on the bed…. Beautiful. So beautiful.”

Her deep breathing fills his ears, tuned into her, the music merely to keep outside sounds filtered. Looping the belt together, he drags the worn leather over her alabaster skin. He can hear her exhale, and he repeats the path before drawing it in circles over her canvas. In his mind’s eye he sees the outcome, splattering his cum all over her backside. Tonight is raw, animalistic… He pushes the thoughts of creating a baby from his mind, wanting to see his seed wasted instead. When your wife says she wants to get fucked, and hands over the reins, you can do what you want. Chris grins at the thought. Tonight’s gonna be fun.

Admiring her ass, her taut skin, her legs pressed together. A small bruise on the back of her thigh, probably from a fall during a dance rehearsal. He can’t believe she’d been practicing for months, and he hadn’t even known. He’d believed her tales, slipping on ice on the subway steps, bumping into a desk at work. Her sprained wrist had kept a brace on her hand for weeks. Dancing. She’d been dancing to surprise him. “What a woman,” he praises. He tilts his chin up. “Spread.”

Her breathing is controlled as she slides her right leg out, rebalancing and distributing her weight evenly between her feet. His cock twitches, hardening, lifting and bobbing against his belly. He groans. Shifting closer to her, he leans forward, pressing himself across the divide of her rounded ass. He rubs the head of his shaft over her, slowly hissing out his own pleasure, smearing her with his pre-cum. He settles himself between her legs, stroking back and forth. Arching over her back, his hands fall forward to play with her freely swinging breasts. “Unmph,” she moans, wiggling back into him. Pushing against her, playing with her tits, it’s barely all he can take to not explode before they even begin. Last week? We had sex sometime last week, right? He pinches her peaked buds as he positions himself to line up with her rim. Dropping one end of the belt, he wraps it around her waist, gathering it in one hand, fisting it against her lower back. Her pussy is hot and wet, inviting him in, soaking the tip of his hard cock. She sighs again. He bites his lip to keep from laughing at her annoyance, letting go of her breast to swat her ass. “I say when,” he reminds her.

When? Now? Why the hell wait?

Waiting’s fun, he reminds himself. He slows his breathing, remembering when sex was fun, before it became rushed, fitting it in their schedules, trying again to create life.

He glides his finger through her wet, bringing it back to caress over her puckered hole. Her weight sags forward, melting into the floor. Her weakness, never would have imagined playing with her ass would be her weakness. Pulling up on the belt, he perfects her stance as he pushes his finger, teasing her tight rim. The small squeak she vocalizes makes him smile, and he can picture the delight on her face. Smoothing over the shiny pink surface, he holds the belt tighter around her waist before stimulating her asshole again. “Breathe deep, Kitten,” he reminds her, knowing she’s holding her breath. Seeing her relax, he takes advantage and pushes in up to his knuckle, feeling her silky smooth wall hold him in firmly. When she relaxes more, he slides out and pushes in again, completing the same action with his cock into her waiting cunt, dripping and ready. “Fuuuck,” he whines. “You feel so good baby.”

She cries out, almost squirming away from him, and he holds still a moment while her body adjusts to the stuffed feeling. “Damn tight,” she moans. Not accepting him tonight, her body constricts, forcing his finger out. Leaning over her again, he reaches for her torn shirt, and wipes his hand clean. Her legs are already shaky and her arms, extended in front of her with only her palms on the bed, are twitchy. He can feel her exhaustion, knows it in her muscles from her performance. Sliding his hand under her wild mane of hair, he grips her neck, increasing the pounding behind his thrusts in and and out of her sopping pussy. The smell of sex fills the air and her sweet nectar runs down her legs, squishing out with each forceable propulsion.

“Don’t be mean,” she whispers.

For her defiance, he yanks up on the belt, slamming her to him, in balls deep and holding her neck tighter. Still afraid to admit she likes it rough, he ponders. The sound of their skin slapping together drives him to pump faster, and harder, but with no stimulation to her clit or breasts, she can continue to pant in heat. Her whines grow as the elusive orgasm pains her, her breaths quick and sharp. Her fingers grip the edge of the bed. Chris wonders if she’ll let go, if she’ll defy him further and reach to stimulate herself. He feels his own pressure building as her legs begin to quake. He walks them forward a few steps closer to the bed, dropping his hand from her neck to her shoulder, gently pushing her down to rest her forearms against the bed, tipping her ass up a bit higher. Directly hitting her spot with each ram, her cries grow louder, breathy whines and moans. “Beg,” he commands.

She shakes her head ‘no,’ slowly. “No use,” she groans. “You won’t let me come.”

He chuckles, the tightening low in his belly, and he leans into her, sucked down into her wet flower, gripping and squeezing around him. The first pulse of his cum shoots through him and paints her deep inside. “Shhh-it,” he hisses, dropping the belt to the floor and pulling out to spill all over her back, just as he’d fantasized. It’s in her hair, shot too high, she’ll hate that. Tugging and twisting over the swollen veins of his cock, he pumps faster, watching the ropes of thick white cum splatter her skin. A few drops fall to the floor, but not a big mess. As the pulses die out and he stills in his hand, her form sinks. “Just wait, Kitten. Let me get you cleaned up.”  She nods, but doesn’t speak.

Warming the wash cloth under the sink water, he reaches over and turns on the jet tub, filling it with hot water. Returning quickly to her side, he wipes up the mess, whispering praises for her performance, on the dance floor and as his submissive toy for the evening. He watches her struggle to hold back her words as he picks her up and carries her to the tub. Sinking down in the hot water, it’s like she unfreezes and her words tumble out. “I asked you to fuck me, no, I told you too. What the hell was that, Jellybean?”

Playfully dunking her under the water, he adjusts the knobs for the jets. She emerges, wiping water from her face, spluttering.

“That was us, just getting started tonight, Kitten. I’m nowhere near finished with you yet. We have lots of lost time we need to make up for. I’m gonna call down to the front desk in the morning. We might just hide up here for the rest of the week, no cares, no responsibilities. All the fucking you want and need.”

Climbing over him as he settles into the water, she grips his cock in her hand, not even attempting to be gentle and says, “Sounds like the perfect summer plan to me!”

Read more about Emery and Chris in their novella, Georgia on My Mind, and their story collections

Author’s Note: Inspired by this AMAZING video, choreographed by Chloe Arnold, featuring the Syncopated Ladies. Emery could handle MOST of the routine, stopping at 1:57…

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

Late Night

Late Night april 25

Late Night

an Emery&Chris fan fic

By avenger-nerd-mom

Emery sits in with Chris during his promotional appearance on the Seth Meyers’ show

Warnings: None, fluff, language

Word Count: 1834

April 2018

“Chris, really? You should know this!’

He chuckles, even his laugh sounding like Boston, and she giggles, her feet bouncing nervously, watching him squirm in his seat.  He tosses his hand up in the air. “No. I try to forget some other guy before me had his tongue in your mouth.” He looks, around distressed, as she dissolves into more laughter. “Can I say that on national television? Did that sound dirty?’  He looks to the audience sheepishly.

“It wasn’t just one,” she mumbles under her breath. Louder, she turns to their host, “Seth, don’t give him my answer yet. Ask me. There’s a prize involved, right?”

“What? A prize? What kind of late night show do you think this is?!” He looks around his desk. “Um, you can have this cool mug?”

“Deal.” Emery nods emphatically. “Is it the same question? ‘Cause I know his first kiss was Maggie Sullivan.” She hits him in the arm. “Show your card.”

He rubs his arm. “Ow, you hit hard. Seth, tell her ‘no hitting.’” He turns his card over and taps it against his leg. “Poor Maggie Sullivan, if she’s watching this…”

Seth shakes his finger at the little red head. “Well done, and it doesn’t bother you to know that?”

She tilts her head, looking to Seth. “No,I won.  I’m the one married to Captain Frickin America. I mean look at him.  He’s so handsome- ‘ She swirls her hands around in front of Chris’s face. “Caterpillar and all…”

He leans back against the seat, “I can’t wait to shave it,” he laughs, rubbing his hand over the questionable facial hair.  “Shit! ” He covers his mouth, with a surprised expression, embarrassed he cursed on television. “Sorry- it was David, wasn’t it?  He was your first kiss?” She happily flips over her card, showing the name of her high school sweetheart. “You danced with him at our wedding! I knew I hated that guy!”

Emery chuckles and pats his leg. “It’s okay, honey. You know we’re just old family friends. You have nothing to worry about.”

Seth makes a funny face to the crowd and the audience laughs. “Yea…” he stretches the word out. “You are Captain Frickin’ America. I think you’re pretty safe, dude.”  

late night 6

Chris mumbles, “I hope, man, I hope.”

Seth laughs, “Ok, next question- Chris, what’s Emery’s favorite movie that’s not Marvel?”

The famous actor looks to his wife, raising an eyebrow. “Wait? Is this a trick question? Seth, are we talking all time favorite, science fiction or holiday?

Emery leans over and covers the microphone on the desk and consults privately with the host. After a brief moment, he turns to Chris and announces. “All time favorite…”

Screwing up his face in thought, his mustache wiggles on his lip.

late night 5

“Oh god, I know it’s an 80s movie,  with that redhead. Crap, what is it? Sixteen Candles!”

Emery’s cheeks turn a shade of red under the bright lights. She holds up the card, ‘Pretty in Pink.’  “That redhead? You worked with Molly once!” She reminds him. “Remember,  we cancelled brunch just the other day because it was on TV and I didn’t wanna leave till the end?”

Leaning in close to her, Chris chuckles. “I thought we stayed home because it was raining, and that’s why we ordered in Chinese?”

Emery hides her laughter behind her card, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Ok, Emery, this one is for you.  What is Chris’s favorite Disney movie?”

Her smile freezes on her face. Shit. It could be anything. The wheels begin to turn, and he jumps in. “This could be any number of- this was a tough,” he waves his hand, “it was a tough call.”

Emery tugs on the end of her pony tail and drops it to her chest when she settles on an answer. “Well, his favorite old-school Disney movie would have to be Robin Hood-”

“Show it to us, you don’t have to go on. That was amazing.” Turning to the audience, Seth teases, “Why do I feel like I’m causing marital discourse between them?” Turning to the couple, he leans in.  “Please don’t send me any therapy bills resulting from this…” He looks at the next question on his card. “What’s Emery’s favorite sweet indulgence?

His face lights up. “Besides me? Oh I got this. Milky Way, I bring them home from the corner shop all the time.”

“Man, do you even know me? You always end up eating those! My favorite candy bar is Heath.” She flips the card over and bops him on the head.

Intervening, Seth holds out his hand. “Chris, have you met this lovely woman sitting by your side? Her name is Emery. She likes 80s teen movies and toffee covered in chocolate.”

Chris shifts in his seat and reaches out for her hand. Shaking it, he introduces himself and says, “Hi. I’m Chris. I’m a dork. I’m in movies, but not porn, as the ‘stache might imply, and I like Starburst jelly beans, and long walks on the beach.”

emery NYC 3

She throws her head back in laughter. “You hate the beach.”

He turns to the audience, nodding. “She’s right. I do.” Turning to the host, he says, “This game is awful. I feel like a chimp could do better at this than I am!”

Seth looks at his watch, “Well, man, it’s only an hour show, so we don’t have time for a counseling session, but I think you need to talk to your wife more, and listen.”  He taps the cards on the table. “We’ve got time for one last question. Chris,” he nods to the actor. “What’s the one thing you do that annoys her the most?”

Chris rocks forward, laughing and shaking his head. Straightening out his pants leg, he says, “Seth, you obviously don’t know me very well. One thing? Listen here. This woman is perfect. She cooks, cleans, does craft projects, exercises, volunteers with kids and has a full time job. And she puts up with me, and deals with the fans, and press. There’s so many things about me that annoy her,” he chuckles. He quits fidgeting with the cards in his lap and reaches for her hand. Looking in her eyes, he says, “I’m just so thankful every day she puts up with me, and I have no frickin’ idea what is my most annoying habit to her.”

She squeezes his hand, silently encouraging him to remember their conversation just before leaving the apartment that morning. She purses her lips, willing him to remember.

“Oh, man!” He exclaims. “I know! She really hates it when I take things out of the dryer and just kinda dump them on the floor instead of folding them, or hanging them up.”

The look on his face is pure pride, when she turns her card over and throws her arm around his neck, kissing his check. “I hate that!” she whispers.

Seth applauds and says over the crowd’s laughter, “He does that? You do deserve some kind of prize for being married to him! If I did that, my wife would kick my-”

“Oh, she does, she does… then she yells at me to go clean it up.”

She nods. “He’s getting better. It’s a twelve step program,” she giggles. “A slow process.”

“Well, Chris, you have a lovely bride, and a wonderful movie coming out later this week, and congratulations on your Broadway debut.” Turning to the cameras, Seth turns it out to a commercial break.

In a rush, crew members come over to unhook their mikes and Seth stands to give Emery a kiss on the cheek. “Again, Seth, congratulations on the birth of your new baby! Thank you for showing me pictures!”

“Thank you for the lovely gift, you didn’t have to do that,” Seth says, reaching out to shake Chris’s hand. “Really, man, the play is great.” He nods. “Best of luck.”

A crew member begins to lead her away, and she waves to the audience as Chris and Seth chat for a few minutes. She watches from the sidelines as the configuration on the stage changes slightly, and one of the Marvel assistants comes to lead her away.

Back stage are a few fans, waiting to meet Chris, and she stops to talk to them. She kneels down next to a young girl dressed as Suri. “Miss Emery!” The young girl sighs. “You’re so beautiful. You came and taught at my school last week, and I got an A on my test.” She holds up the paper to show her achievement, and Emery gives her a high five.

“That’s amazing! Wow, you did great and used that fraction trick, didn’t you?” Emery smiles. When Chris comes up behind her, he places his hand on the small of her back. She turns to him and shows him the math paper. “Chris, this is my friend, Lashaya,” she says, reading from the test, “and she was in my class and got an A.”

He squats down next to the girl, and an assistant places a small bag at his feet. “Lashaya, that’s pretty amazing. I’m really proud of you.” He smiles up to Emery and winks. “She’s a great teacher, but what’s even better is, you remembered what she taught you and now you can help your friends, cause that’s important right?”

She nods and smiles at the photos her mother is taking. He reaches in the bag, and hands the girl a signed Funko Pop and poses for a selfie before moving on to talk to other people waiting for him. Emery stands back and watches, not a part of the limelight, when the girl’s mother asks for a photo of her as well. “Please, Miss Emery? My daughter has never done good in school before, but you really helped her. She works so hard now, and I thank you for that.”

Emery chokes on her tears, and catches Chris watching her. He winks as she bends down to take a photo with the child. “You tag me in that, alright? I wanna make sure I see it! You hang that test on the fridge and earn more like it, okay?”

“Okay,” Lashaya says before her mother leads her away.

Another Marvel handler comes to her, and suggests they go on down to the car. In the quiet hallway behind the stage, the young man says, “That was really cool. I’ve never thought about it, but you’re kind of a superhero, too, Mrs. Evans. Teaching kids all day, especially math, must be hard. That was pretty amazing!”

Chris’s voice echoes down the hall, rushing to join them. “Damn right, my wife’s a superhero! And I’m taking her to dinner!  Where you wanna go, baby? Seth’s right. It’s been a while since we’ve had time to just sit and talk.”

“Just you, me and the mustache? Ok,” she laughs, looping her arm through his as they walk out to the car.

Read more about Emery and Chris in their novella, Georgia on My Mind, and their story collections

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

Auntie Em

auntie em april 15 2018

Auntie Em

*an Emery & Chris drabble*

By avenger-nerd-mom

Emery pitches in to help her sister-in-law, Carly, when the kids are sick and Carly has plans. Her tutoring with his nephew goes slightly awry.

Warnings: None, Fluff

Word Count: 2141

To find out more about Emery and her life with Chris, begin with their novella, Georgia on My Mind, and follow up with their stories!

His voice is quiet, and she strains to hear him. “When are you coming home, baby? I miss you.”

Emery smiles. “I’ve only been gone two days; I’ll be home Monday.”

“I know, but it feels like it’s been fooor-eveeer.” He whines and stretches the word out.

She wraps her arm around the sleeping little one in her lap. “Good grief, listen to you, moaning like I’ve been gone for months.” She smiles at the other two boys, stretched out on the floor, coloring and playing with race cars.

Chris drops his voice and it vibrates through the phone. “I need you here to make me moan.”

“Oh stop,” she giggles. “Stella’s asleep in my lap.”

“Is she feeling any better?” Her heart flutters at the tender sound of his voice, so full of concern for his niece.

She nods, even though he can’t see her. She gently strokes the little girl’s hair back, checking for signs of a fever. “I think the fever broke a few hours ago. She was running around here with the boys just a bit a go, before she had another coughing fit. They felt so bad for her, they let her watch Frozen without whining.”

“It’s nice to have family close, when you have an emergency,” he hints. “Have you heard from Carly?”

“She’s been checking in every few hours. She can’t be enjoying their romantic get away if she’s worried about a sick kid.” Emery shifts on the love seat, her arm starting to fall asleep under the weight of the sleeping child. “I’ve got it under control. We went to Ethan’s piano lesson this morning, and Miles and I have been studying for his math test. We’ve had a good visit.”

“You sound tired,” he sighs. “Three will do that, but-”

“Which is why, Evans, we’re only having two-”

“I’m not stopping till we have a little girl, with fiery red hair like her mother,” he states.

“You really want two of us in the house?” She smiles. She sighs happily. More of their discussions have turned to family lately, with the Marvel end in sight. She’ll be sad when it’s time to see him hang up the shield, but with his success on Broadway, she looks forward to different opportunities.

“No, I want three of you. Two little girls, just like their mama, and a little boy?” He adds with a question.

At that moment, Miles lifts his head and turns to her and smiles. His boyish grin is so much like his uncle’s, she can’t help but giggle. “Okay, maybe you can twist my arm for three, but no more than that,” she acquiesces.

“It’s not about twisting your arm, kitten, you like it when I twist your-”

“Chris! Shh!” She blushes, quietting him as Miles crawls into her lap.

He holds out his little hand. “Auntie Em, can I talk to Uncle Chris?”

She hands him the phone, holding him close to her side and listening to him chatter with his uncle. Maybe three isn’t a bad number…

***

Standing at the sink, the two women pass the plates off to one another as they wash and dry, leaving things on the counter for the men to put away later.

“Really, Em, you didn’t have to have dinner waiting for us,” Carly repeats, running the cloth around the glass rim to dry it.

Emery feels around in the soapy water. Finding the sink empty, she looks to the counter behind her. “It was no trouble. I miss getting to cook for people. We’ve mostly been eating take out,” she explains. “I think that’s it. Anything else to wash?”

Carly looks around as well, and shakes her head. “Except for the plate with the cheesecake Scott took to the living room, and he can wash that himself.”

Emery nods and releases the plug from the sink, shaking the soap suds from her hands before rinsing them clean. She grabs a dry towel and wipes her hands before beginning to put the plates away in the cabinet.

Carly finishes with the last coffee cup and throws her towel on the counter. “Stop. The boys said they’d do it; leave it.”  She takes a step or two away and clicks the coffee pot on. “Another cup?”

Nodding, Emery continues to put away the plates, ignoring Carly’s glare. “I’m the oldest sister too. That look has no effect on me,” she announces.

With the Evans grin, Carly chuckles and reaches into the fridge for the creamer, setting out her coffee items on the counter. “Thanks again for coming down to watch the kids. I hope it didn’t change your plans.”

Emery waves it off. “Nothing more important than family. With Mom and Shanna both busy, I’m glad I could help out.”

“Not a lot of family close by if you’re in LA,” Carly suggests, taking the pot from it’s stand and pouring two cups.

“Gee, you’re not subtle or anything,” Emery giggles, reaching for her cup and adding a splash of the vanilla creamer.  She grabs two sugar packets and walks to the table. Knowing how the family grapevine works, she decides not to mention Tara is on the search for the perfect family home for them nearby.  After several long discussions, she’d made it clear she wanted them to have their own home in Boston, not one he’d previously shared with girlfriends. Chris had been open to her idea of finding something a little rough around the edges, so they could add their own touches to the home, and truly make it theirs.

Carrying over the plate of cookies, Carly sits in the chair across from her sister-in-law. “We’d love to have you both close. I know you like staying in Savannah, but home for him is here.”

“Carly,” Emery says sternly, “Home for us is wherever the other one is… It’s not a city or a dwelling. It’s here.” She rests her left hand over her heart, the kitchen lighting making her wedding ring gleam. “I know you want us here, but my family feels the same, Carly. Chris and I have to make decisions right for us.”

Carly passes her spoon to Emery, to stir the sugar into her cup. “I know, I didn’t mean… I was just making conversation,” she sheepishly says. “It’s fun you’ve been so close the last few months. It was nice to see you guys at Easter, and for us to have a good excuse to go to New York.”

Emery tilts her head. “It has been nice, and I look forward to coming back in a few weeks to do the training for your school district.”

“What’s his plan after the play ends? It’s been really strange to watch the promo tour stuff, and he’s not a part of it.”

Emery rests back in her seat. “Yea, I hate that too. It doesn’t seem right.” She shrugs. “After the play? I don’t think we have a lot of plans. I’ve only got three workshops scheduled for the summer. I’d like to spend time at the lake house with my family some, get to know Parker’s fiancee a bit better…”

The women chat well into the night, keeping clear of touchy subjects such as children and moving. Whenever Carly tries to push a topic Emery wants to avoid, she tactfully finds a way to shut her down. Eventually she realizes the time, and dismisses herself to bed, with the excuse of an early morning flight.

Carly wanders into the living room as Emery takes the stairs to the second level of the home. She drags her hands slowly over the photos that line the hall. At the top of the steps, she turns and looks down, smiling at the pile of shoes and backpacks by the front door. Scott steps into her line of sight, and waves goodbye, blowing her a kiss before quietly leaving the house. She turns and walks down the hallway, stopping to check in on the boys, fast asleep in their beds.

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In Stella’s room, the little girl clutches a bear to her chest, her thumb in her mouth.  Emery walks in quietly, the light from the closet adding a glow to the room. She pulls the little girls thumb out, tucking the little hand under the girl’s chin instead, pulling the blankets up higher to tuck her in. The tiny cherub sighs peacefully and Emery bends to kiss the top of her head.

Reaching the guest room, she yawns and pulls back the blankets before sitting down to take off her shoes. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she sends a quick message. “I miss you. I’m ready to come home. See you tomorrow.”

The red-head waits a few moments to see if a response will come. With no answer, she rises from the bed, and enters the bath to get ready for a fitful night’s sleep.

***

Wednesday afternoon, she waits on the small couch, still giggling from the text from Carly. She listens to the applause and waits for Chris to come back stage. An image of ‘Bill,’ his character in the play enters her mind.  The crisp blue uniform… The silly moustache… She gets the giggles again and can’t wait to show him the picture. He was crabby before the show, but she knows this will put him in better spirits. That and the box of pizza from John’s, sitting on the coffee table.

“Hey, Emery,” Brian calls out as he walks past the room, not stopping to talk.

“I got pizza!” She yells back.

She smiles when his head pops back in the door. “You’re a saint, a goddess among mere mortals.” He looks down the hall, and nods his head before looking back to her. “You have to be for putting up with this guy.” Brian Tyree Henry claps his large hand on Chris’s shoulder. “You found a good one, man.”

Chris smiles, dropping the officer hat from his costume into the chair and running his hands through his hair. “I’m just lucky she puts up with me,” Chris agrees.

“And I bring pizza,” she smiles, opening the box to the two men.

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“And she brings pizza,” Chris chuckles, leaning over the food to kiss his beautiful wife. He reaches down for a slice and takes a bite, chewing slowly. He sighs. “Pure heaven. If I could just have a beer, it would be damn near perfect.” He collapses on the couch next to her.

“No beer!” Someone calls out as they walk down the hall.

“Damn that promise I made,” he grumbles, taking another bite.

Bryan reaches for a slice and tilts it to Emery. “Thanks, Em, babe. But I really can’t stay. I’m meeting some friends for an actual dinner before we gotta be back for the night show.”

She nods, scratching her hands over Chris’s back absently as he scarfs down a second slice.  “Brunch Friday?”

He nods and mumbles his agreement behind his hand, chewing his food before excusing himself.

“Kitten, I gotta get changed. People are out on the sidewalk and-”

“Chris, I know. I know the routine by now. It’s good. I just knew you’d be hungry,” She shrugs. “Before you go, I want you to see the picture Carly sent me. It’s from Miles’ geometry test he took yesterday.”

Chris cocks his eyebrow, his expression curious as Emery opens her phone and turns the image to him.

“It’s his test paper? I don’t get it?”

“Chris! Look at what he drew!” Emery laughs, pushing the phone closer to him.

Chris begins to laugh. “What the hell?” His laughter is infectious and Emery loses it again. The more he looks at the test page, the more he laughs, to the point of wheezing and clapping his hand over his left pec.

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“Oh, shit! That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. Text her back and tell her I have never been more proud of my nephew than I am right now! Please tell me he passed?” He laughs again and slaps his knee, rocking back to then wipe an actual tear from his eye.

She pushes on his back, shoving him off the couch. “Go, get changed. They’ll be here to take you out to sign any minute,” she giggles, glad she was able to cheer him up.

He rises, bending to kiss the top of her head. “You just made my day. That was better than the pizza, maybe even better than the sex this morning.”

“Watch it, Mister. Those are fighting words,” Emery laughs, slapping his ass as he walks away. She looks at her phone again and shakes her head in another fit of laughter.  She’ll have to make sure to include drawing lessons in her geometry tutorials next time, to ensure her younger students can draw a proper cylinder.

**Thanks to my IRL for sharing this actual test paper with me this week! As soon as I saw it, I knew it was an ‘Emery story!’

Images found on Pinterest

Text created using ifakemessage.com

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

Wet Sand

 

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Wet Sand

a Tom Hiddleston drabble

by avenger-nerd-mom

Word Count 676

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Nudity

Tom and his new secret love enjoy an evening walk on the beach…

April 2017

Walking along the shore, Tom and his lovely fair-haired companion gaze out over the horizon, watching the birds dip and swoop for their evening meal.  Tom carries his shoes and wonders if she left hers on the terrace after dinner. Her long flowing dress trails in the water and the blue and purple swirls of fabric at her tiny feet remind him of a mermaid.  “Isn’t that the dress you bought in Milan a few weeks ago? It’s quite lovely,” he compliments.

She side-eyes him, bumping her elbow into his arm.  “Are you afraid I’m ruining it in the water?”

He chuckles quietly.  “Well… far be it from me to tell you what to do; it’s your vacation home- but yes, won’t the water cause damage?  It was rather expensive, as I recall.”

Stepping ahead, she turns on her heels to face him.  Gathering the fabric up to her hips, she kicks and splashes him playfully.   With his long legs, he kicks back and water and sand spot across the front of her dress.  “So sorry! I was only-” Tom begins his famous apologies before she cuts him off.

“Ruined now.  It’s ruined.” Reaching up, she feels the globs of sand on top of her head.  “And sand in my hair?” She tsk-tsks, looking down at her chest, the wet sand clinging to the tanned globes peeking out from the deep v-neck cut of the summer gown.  “Well, that’s that, I guess.” Her eyes locked on his, she pulls the dress over her head, revealing herself to be totally nude under the flimsy gauzy fabric. She tosses the dress to him and backs slowly into the water.  “You’ve made me dirty, Tom.  That wasn’t very nice.”

Dropping his eyes, he looks away, embarrassed not by her natural display but by the instant need it creates in him.  Hearing a splash as she twists and dives away, he turns with a smile to watch her swim from the shore.

“Aren’t you worried the ships on the horizon have paparazzi with telephoto lens?” He asks, thinking back to another time he once played on the beach with a woman and how it did not end well.

“It wouldn’t be the first time my breasts have graced the tabloids, dear,” she mocks before diving under again, her sweet little ass rising above the water’s surface before disappearing.  Springing up, she pushes the wet hair back from her face. “Are you too afraid to have your cock on display? It’s very beautiful… You should strip down and join me. The water’s perfect.”

“And have the press finally catch us together, as a couple?”  He asks, wondering if this might truly be her plan.

She giggles, swirling in dizzying circles, creating her own current around her.  It reminds him of their life together, always spinning in circles, waiting for one wave to crash into the other.

“I’m your fashion designer, Tom.  They already caught me with my hands down your pants a few weeks ago. Purely of a business nature, of course.”   She winks. “What’s the point of keeping it secret any longer?”

“Darling, I’m more than happy to step out in the press with you, if that’s what you want; if you think we’re ready, but…” he shields his eyes from the setting sun, again eyeing the ships with wary. “Dropping my trousers in daylight to skinny dip with you isn’t what I had in mind.”

“Oh, really.  Then tell me, Mr. Hiddleston.  What do you have in mind?” She asks, her voice throaty and full of lust and desire.

Clutching the designer dress tighter in his hands, he begins to slowly back away.  “I think I’d rather steal your clothes and watch you run along the path, naked, back up to the cottage.”

“TOM!  You wouldn’t!” Thrashing through the water, she tries to reach him, but she’s too late, as she watches him sprint down the shore to the path leading to her secluded beach home.  “That British fucker,” she complains, taking off after him, water dripping down her shapely body.

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Hero In-Laws

hero inlaws.jpg

Hero In-Laws

An Emery&Chris story

By avenger-nerd-mom

Scott Evans makes a visit to see Chris and Emery in NYC in early March 2018, for Lobby Hero

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1287

Click here to follow the tale of Emery and Chris!

Scott throws himself around the little powerhouse when the apartment door flies open. “Oh, Sis! I’ve missed you so much,” he declares, picking Emery up and spinning her around. He sets her back down and she wobbles from dizziness. “Shit, I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.” He eyes her belly warily.

“Oh, stop!” She hits his arm. “We’re still trying. Lots of fun trying, actually,” Emery laughs, closing the apartment door. “He told you, right? All the tests came back normal, for both of us. So relax.”

Scott gently kisses her check. “You look beautiful. Winter cold suits you,” he says, setting his bag down by the entry table before following her into the larger open space. “Holy shit, look at that view.”

Her gaze follows his. She’ll never get tired of looking at the skyline, despite the cold gray look of the city this time of year. “I hate the cold… But New York is an interesting place; I kinda like it.” The Southern belle smiles, sitting on the cream colored couch facing the large wall of windows. “I feel like it’s so foreign though, like everyone moves and talks so fast. And they ask me to repeat myself. I think people think I’m slow,” she giggles. “My Southern drawl; it’s like they expect me to pull out a redneck joke or something.”

Scott chuckles and sits down on the couch near her. “You liking work?”

She nods. “I’ve been training with some of the magnet schools.  They’re using some of their funding for a STEM project to replicate some of the ‘discoveries’ of Wakanda.” She chuckles. “Chadwick’s been too busy right now to get back to me, but I’m hoping before we leave the city, he could come by and meet some of the kids and teachers.”

“Gawd, did you see it? Amazing, right?” He continues to stare out the front window.

“Of course! Opening day. Wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Incredible… And now they’ve moved up the IW date?”

“Still a fangirl, huh?” Scott chuckles. He leans forward to take off his shoes. “You’re not sick of it by now?”

Emery rolls her head to the side, surveying the room in front of her. The rented furniture is exquisite and luxurious. Not something she ever thought she’d have chosen, but it works for the space and feels right. Although they’ve spent a lot of time ‘hiding’ at home during the few weeks in the city, she hasn’t felt lonely or secluded. She and Chris both have many friends in the area, and it seems someone is always stopping by, as is evident from the stack of games laying on the glass coffee table in front of her. She’s looking forward to Anna and Tom visiting soon, to see the play. She loves competitive game night with the charming couple!

“I still feel like Cinderella, sometimes. Like the clock is gonna strike and it will all disappear, or the fairy godmother’s spell will end, and he’ll realize I’m just a silly little teacher from Georgia. But being a fangirl got me here.” She sits up and closes the lid to one of the games before standing. “I don’t geek out over every little thing anymore, but the perks of being Captain America’s wife are nice sometimes.”

She motions for him to follow her to the kitchen. Without even asking, she pulls over the cake pan, lifting the cover off a lovely three-tiered cake. Scott mimics cutting a big slice and walks to the fridge, reaching inside for the carton of milk. They make small talk, Scott catching up with gossip of her family and he fills her in the news of the Evans clan. She opens a cabinet and grabs two plates down from the shelf.

“One of your cake creations?” He asks, sticking his finger in the glob of cake frosting that landed on the counter.

Emery nods, dropping the knife down through the layers of chocolate confections. “Can’t you tell from the size of my hips?”

Scott steps back, admiring the beautiful woman. “Eh, doesn’t turn me on, but, whatever…” He laughs. “Em, you look great.”

She points the knife towards him. “You’re lying, but thanks.”

Scott runs his hands over his scruff. “Bullshit. I can still appreciate a beautiful woman when I see one. You had a miscarriage, you ate some food,” He shakes his head when she whispers, “lots of it,” under her breath. “But you look amazing. Fifteen extra pounds won’t kill you.”

“Bless you for thinking that’s all it is…” She places a much smaller piece on the plate in front of her.  She sighs. “I like being close to the park. I’ve been running in the mornings. I have to block out episodes of Law and Order from my mind when I do it, but still…” She chimes in as Scott hums the theme credits. “I’ve never liked running before. The pace of the city at that time of day is so hyped, I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s like a drug.”

“It’s like you expect to see Carrie or Miranda around every corner; yeah. I get that,” Scott laughs, catching the crumbs from the cake as they fall from his mouth and licking them from his palm.

“Right? By the way, that is so gross… I’m in love with New York. I can’t believe I’m saying that, but it’s true. I really want the play to go well for him, Scott. I’ve been a nervous wreck all week. He’s so amazing. Like there is no Chris in it at all… Until he cracked a grin as the cast took their final bow, he was a different person.”

“It’s called ‘acting,’” Scott laughs. “It’s what you do when you are raised in the ‘theatre.’”
He mimics a pompous voice. “I don’t know how he can keep a straight face with that… that thing on his face.”

“Oh, gawd, it’s awful, isn’t it?! Like a fuzzy caterpillar… I’m still getting used to it.”

Scott reaches for his phone in his back pocket, licking some more chocolate frosting from his thumb. He swipes over the phone screen, bringing it to life and opening one of his social media accounts, turning the photo for her to see. “Total ‘70s porn ‘stache,” Scott grins. “I had a boyfriend once with-”

“Stop. Stop. For the love of God, Scott, stop.” Emery covers her face, wishing her brother-in-law hadn’t put those visuals in her head.

He shrugs, moving to carry his plate to the living room.

“Oh, no. Do you see the color of that furniture? No food in there. That was our deal. Chris and I agreed it was the one time in our lives we can have white furniture.”

“God, you’re bossy. You’ll make a great mom.” He moves to the kitchen table instead.

“Scott, really. I can’t get used to it. I mean, he was ‘Frank Adler’ when we met. So when he had to be Steve, that was weird. Then the long hair and beard this summer…” She takes another bite, shaking her head.  “The other morning, I held my hand over his upper lip when I kissed him. It’s just so ‘skitchy.’” She grins at the family word her nieces use to describe the texture of scruffy beards. “I don’t wike it.”

“You love it,” he teases, eyeing her sideways.

“I love him… the new look? I’ll get used to it,” she sighs.

Scott points to the TV. “It’s very Jack Pearson.” He looks at her with a hope in his eyes. “Ya know, I haven’t watched this week. Wanna catch up?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Emery grins, high-fiving him and squeezing his hand in hers.

Cover photo images found on Pinterest, using Layout and Phonto for cover creation

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

Vacation Time

Vacation Time december 23 2017

Vacation Time

An Emery&Chris story

By avenger-nerd-mom

Chris and Emery continue their weekend getaway weekend in the secluded cabin in the Blue Ridge mountains.  A competitive game reveals a little secret, and the couple receive a holiday surprise.

Warnings: real life, fluff, language

Word Count: 2321

Images found on Pinterest. Sources unknown.

Click here for part one of this story…

December 2017

Shyly, Emery turns from the hot stove, handing her sleepy-eyed husband a plate of Southwest eggs, hashbrowns, and a steaming cup of coffee.

“Bacon will be ready in a minute,” she appeases, nibbling a bite of her toast.

“What’s all this for?” he asks.  “You don’t usually fix all my favorites at once; you always say it’s a heart attack on a plate.”  Sprinkling pepper over the whole meal, he jokes, “Are you trying to kill me?”

She giggles, carrying her plate, with the served up bacon, to the table.  “It’s an apology,” she says, tucking her leg under her bottom as she sits in the wobbly chair.  “I was kind of a  bitch the last few days.”

Chris opens his mouth to replay and promptly snaps it shut, hiding his smile behind his large hand.  He clears his throat, holding back his laughter.  “Really?  I hadn’t noticed.”

She chuckles, mixing together her scrambled eggs with the potatoes, reaching for the tabasco sauce.  “It’s my hormones.  They’re still crazy, but getting better.”

He nods, reaching over to pat her hand.  Losing their baby last spring had been difficult on both of them, in more ways than one.  They had gone to therapy together to work through their pain.  As a couple, they had decided to be more careful, to wait till there was a more definitive end in sight for studio connections related to Cap.  Chris rubs his thumb over the back of her small hand, before pulling back and picking up his fork, his mind still wandering, not really knowing what to say.  He lifts the forkful of eggs to his mouth, chewing in silence.  Leaving for ten weeks to South Africa during the summer had been trying, to say the least.  In his absence, Emery had hid her sorrows in a buckets of ice cream and fast food, eating comfort foods as she traveled and gave school trainings, gaining a little extra weight.  She hates it, but he likes the added curves.

“Hey,” he blurts out, shocking them both from their contemplative morning.  His own look of surprise makes her giggle.  “Did you pack our hiking boots?  It’s nice out.  Why don’t we take that path we looked at the other day, before it gets too cold.”

He cringes inwardly, hoping she doesn’t take it as a slam against her weight, but her face brightens.  “I love that idea, jelly bean.  They’re in the back of the truck.”

The young couple finish their breakfast, making plans to pack for the hike and the easy comfort returns between the two.

***

Carrying the firewood in, Chris laughs as she loads everything into the new pressure cooker she’s been raving about for weeks.  “Don’t let my mother see you do that; it’s not real Italian if it doesn’t simmer for hours and splatter gravy on the cabinets.”

“She gave me the recipe,” Emery laughs, sticking her tongue out at him.  “It just makes everything easier.  Why do you think I brought it along for the weekend?”

Tightening the lid, she punches a code on the space age front and reaches for two beer from the fridge.  She nods to him, “Unless you want something warm?”

He arranges the logs carefully, stoking the burning embers to rebuild the blaze.  He shakes his head.  “Nah, that’s fine.  Bring over one of the Jiffypop pans.”

Emery opens the well-stocked pantry and grabs two pans.  She stiffles a laugh and tucks something under her arm, walking over to the coffee table.  Shoving the Potter book out of the way, she sets down the beers before placing the box on the table and handing him the pans.  

“What’s that?” he asks, peeling off the cardboard label on the foiled pan.

“Scrabble.  Sexy scrabble?” She laughs, opening the box and dumping the tiles on the table, many falling to the floor.

“You mean like in that story you were reading a few months ago?”

“Yea,” she blushes.  “I thought it was funny,” Emery giggles, taking a sip from her beer and creating a pile of pillows by the couch.

He shakes his head, reaching for a pillow, and resting it against the hearth, the fire at his back.  “Can’t believe you still read that crap…” he mumbles, looking over his shoulder to the flames, jostling the popping kernels.

“Actually, those two authors are published and-”

“Dammit, I knew something was up!” He pumps his fist in the air and his face lights up.  “I remember that story.”  He pulls the handle of the pan from the fire and drops it on the stones, letting it cool.  “That was the one with Tom… That’s it, you’ve got a Hiddleston crush now, don’t you?  That’s why you were so weird when he was on set, geezus, how did I not see it?”

She purses her lips and hides her smile.  “Well, hell, the way those two women write, how could I not see him a little differently? I know, I know, it’s weird.  It’s not like a crush, more like, ‘I know I’ve met him before but how did I not realize he was attractive?’ Does that make sense?”

He sighs, counting out his tiles for the game.  “No, but I’ll take your word for it.”  Sitting across the table from her, he enjoys teasing her, likes watching the firelight flicker over her ginger hair, bringing out flecks of gold.  He knocks his foot against her calf, before picking her leg up and resting her foot in his lap, massaging the ball of her foot.  “So you aren’t going to run away from me? Leave me for Tom?”

“Oh, no!  I could never do that to Anna!  She’s the sweetest!”

“What?” he barks out, his laughter barely contained.

Her blush is as red as her hair and she drops her face into her little hands, the light bouncing off the silver wedding band and large stone.  “Shit!  That’s not what I meant and you know it-”

“Cuz, ya know Anna is really cute too and-”

“Shut up, Christopher.  That’s not what I meant at all, and you know it.” She tosses a tile at him.  “Are we gonna play the game or what?”

“You know I’m very competitive.  All right, give me the rules again.”

He reaches behind him for the popcorn, placing the inflated silver mound on the table before breaking the seal open and popped kernels spilling out onto the table.  She explains the rules as she remembers from the fan fic story she’d read and told him about, and they begin their word game, using only words related to sex acts, providing entertainment as the sun set.  The pair banter back and forth, laughing over use of slang and foreign words.

Chris looks up from his phone waving it at Emery when she sets back down from checking the dinner.

“We can eat now or la- what? Why are you waving that at me?”

“Tom thinks you’re cute too. He sends his best for Christmas in case he and Anna don’t make it back for reshoots till after the holidays.”

Her jaw hangs open momentarily and he tosses a piece of popcorn inside.  “You did not.”

He raises his eyebrow, in what should be a trademarked move.  He laughs and shrugs his shoulders.  “He happened to text just now about some studio gossip he heard, and Anna invited us for New Year’s Eve.  I may have mentioned you have a new appreciation for his ‘good looks.’  Bastard wanted to know what size Loki pajamas you would want for Christmas.” He chuckles, his eyes turning dark.  “I forbid you to wear those in our bed.”

She pushes back her hair.  “Is that a tone of jealousy I hear, Mr. Evans?  Are you worried another superhero could steal my heart?”

“He’s the villain,” he growls.

“Oh, I see… So you can look at other women, while I stand back and watch quietly while fans drape themselves all over you, but if I happen to say one of your co-stars is good looking, after all this time, you’re gonna get bent out of shape?”

“Hell, yeah, Emery, ‘cuz you’re mine.  I don’t want you thinking about any other guy, the way you think about me.  I get why you read fan fics, still.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes.  “No different if I decide to watch porn while we’re apart,” at the look on her face, he adds, “Which is rare, which is rare,” he laughs.  “But I don’t want you having sexual fantasies about my friends. Our friends.  It’s weird.”

sexy scrabble.jpg

Rearranging her tiles, she can’t lift her eyes to his.  She says quietly, “I don’t have sexual fantasies about your friends.  Only you.”

He likes teasing her.  “Emery Thomas Evans, can you boldly tell me you didn’t marry me because I’m a Marvel man, and have famous friends.”

“Oh, yeah.  That’s not important to me.”  She lays out her next word on the board. ‘Spank.’ “I totally married you for your amazing cock.”

He coughs, holding back his laughter, watching her mouth twitch as she tries not to laugh as well.  “Is that all?  That’s the only reason?”

“Well, that and your money.  Being a poor, broke teacher was getting old… Thank god you don’t work for DC,” she throws out.

“My money? Really Miss ‘I Bought All My Christmas at Wal-Mart?’”

She slaps her thigh. “Oh!  Look who’s talking?!  You are still wearing the same Henley from 2006 and won’t wear the new ones I buy you.”

“Target. Quality stuff.  2006 was a good year,” Chris says, running his hands over the well worn fabric.  “And it’s comfortable.  The new ones are itchy and tight, and damn, Em, they just don’t make them like they used to.”

With a giggle and a smirk on her face, she rises, silently pausing the game.  She moves to the kitchen and he gets up to follow her, reaching for the plates as she opens the cook pot.  “Christopher Robert Evans, it’s not like you are eighty years old and they only made good shirts when you were young!  The new ones will stretch out if you just wear them.”  Emery rolls her eyes and serves out the pasta dish, smelling remarkably just like Mama Lisa’s kitchen.

***

Emery’s eyes flutter open when she realizes too much sunlight is pouring into the small cabin.  She blinks repeatedly trying to focus and make sense of what she sees.  Chris’s round bubble butt comes into view first.  “Evans, what the hell are you doing?” she laughs, throwing a pillow at him.

cabin chris

“Just enjoying the view.  The fresh air.”  He looks back over his shoulder with an impish grin.  “Bringing in the sun to wake you up, sleepyhead.  Come here, you’re not gonna believe this.”

Grumbling, she pulls the comforter from the bed, wrapping it around herself.  “You better close that door and bring your parts back inside.  You’re no good to me if your dick freezes and falls off.”  Her voice is tight and raspy, the cold air having taken its toll overnight. She tiptoes across the cold floor to stand behind him.  Holding tight to the corners of the blanket, she wraps her arms across his chest, cocooning them both in the warmth of the bedding.  “What time is it?” she asks sleepily.

“Vacation time.  Who gives a fuck? Anyway, we’re snowed in.”

“Hmmm…” she hums, nestling against his back.  The feel of his favorite faded flannel against her cheek is comforting and she’s so happy to be in his arms again.  “What?”  She blinks, really opening her eyes, surprised to see the truck and lane covered with snow.  He nudges her backwards and closes the door.  “Can you believe I hardly ever saw snow as a kid, and now it snows here at least once a year?  So weird.”

“Global warming,” he scoffs, spinning her around to the front of his body, laughing when she jumps back.  He pulls her close, whispering, “We get an early Christmas present.  Production is shut down for a few days.  Atlanta is at a stand still and the power is out.  It’s messing with filming.”

“Hard to look like Wakanda with snow on the ground,” she offers. “Do we have power?”

“I don’t know; I haven’t checked,” he admits. “I just woke up myself when the phone rang-”

“Were you about to… pee off the front porch?”

Laying back on the couch, he pulls her on top of him.  “Hey, we’re camping-”

“No.  No.  I don’t need to know anymore.  Thanks. God, men are so weird.” she giggles.

“So we’re stuck inside?  Might I suggest choosing another word on the board? Maybe make it a combo act?” He teases, pointing to their abandoned game.  “I think last night’s winner should choose the word.”

She slows her breathing to match his, lulling into a restful state, nestled in his arms as he combs his fingers through her hair.  “I wanna sleep more.  I never sleep well when you’re gone.  And it’s been so crazy.  But now it’s just us.  So let’s go back to bed.”

He chuckles and she vibrates against him.  “I don’t think you mean that the way I hope you mean that.”  Chris drops his head to kiss the top of her mass of wild red curls.

Emery’s fingertips graze over his chest and she delights in the goosebumps that form across the solid plane.  Her heart begins to beat faster and she pulls in all the details of the moment.  His warm skin.  The dark words etched into his flesh.  The small scar on his neck.  His freckled cheeks.  “Hey, Chris?” She lifts her head to look at him.  “This may be the best Christmas present ever.  More time with you.  Thank you.”

His lips turn into a smile.  “Mother Nature and I worked that out, together, just for you, kitten.  Merry Christmas, Emery.”

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