Labor of Love

Screenshot_20190413-090341_Phonto.jpg

Labor of Love

*an Emery&Chris fan fiction*

By avenger-nerd-mom

Word Count:  2363

Summary: Chris and Emery finally welcome their new little one into the world.

April 2019

Walking back to his trailer, Chris fumbles for his phone, nearly dropping it in the bright sun. He squints at the screen, wishing he had his sunglasses with him. The sunlight is deceiving- it’s not as warm as it appears. But since the weekend is supposed to be warmer, he promised his nephews a day at the park Saturday. Watching them play soccer. He chuckles, remembering all the “hot soccer Dad” comments Emery told him about after the weekend press conference.

“Call Emery,” he speaks softly into the phone, waving at a group of fans standing across the street. His handler opens the trailer and he steps inside, flopping in the seat closest to the door. He waits to see her face, surprised when she simply answers as a call, rather than a video chat.

“Hey, Jellybean!” Emery weakly exclaims. “You about done on set today?”

Chris reaches for the call sheet on the other end of the couch. Glancing over it, he replies, “Yeah, about another hour or two. They wanna reshoot one scene, but it shouldn’t take long-”
“Was that an actual ice cream shop, or a set? You know I want ice cream.”

“Fuckin’ internet… You’ve already seen fan photos, haven’t you?” Chris chuckles. “Yes, it was a real store.” Ice cream has been one of her pregnancy cravings, along with steak and Capn’ Crunch Peanut Butter cereal.  He can’t keep track of her favorites from week to week. Hell, it’s probably changed in the few days while I was gone to LA for Endgame promo. “What do you want me to bring home?”

“Something with toffee, and pecans.” She says the word in her funny little Southern drawl, ‘pea-CANS.’ “Buttery, vanilla, not chocolate. But, babe, don’t bring it home.” She clears her throat. Stronger, she tells him, “I need you to bring it to the hospital.”

Chris sits up tall, dropping both feet to the floor, ready to jump up in action. “Hospital! Emery, are you in labor? Why didn’t you call me!”

“You’re a nervous Nelly. And I knew you were looking forward to today’s shoot. Labor’s gonna take forever. The only thing you’ve missed so far is me throwing up, more than once, and sleeping.” She yawns, making a little puffing sound. “Real exciting stuff.”

Dammit, she would keep it to herself, not to worry me… Throwing open the trailer door, he waves the closest staffer over. Holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, he grabs the man’s clipboard and scribbles, ‘Labor. Leaving. Top Secret.’ Pushing the board back to the shocked man, he lunges for his keys on the counter, exiting the trailer in two large steps and slamming the door behind him. “Tell me everything,” he growls into the phone.

There’s a pause, and he can’t hear her over the sound of the crowd yelling at him. “Chris, relax. If you rush outta there like a mad man, it’ll be all over the Internet before you can even get here. I don’t want fans or press showing up here. We talked about that. Call me back when you get to the car. I promise, you’re not gonna miss the birth of our baby.”

She sounds tired, worn out. “Em? Is everything okay?”

“Just get here.”

The phone line goes silent. Staring at the phone, he can’t believe she hung up on him. Or called him a ‘nervous Nelly.’ What even is that Southernism? He shakes his head, and makes a beeline to another staffer, trying to remember his plan of attack if this situation came about this way. Quickly explaining his predicament, he asks the man to get the ice cream, telling him to come find the unmarked sedan on the back of the lot. Chris smiles wryly at the man’s confused expression as he turns towards the car that’s been provided to get him to and from set with little recognition.

As the man jogs away, one of the executive producers walks up to Chris, pointing him in the opposite direction. “I heard. Congratulations,” he offers, clapping his hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Tabby’s gonna drive you. That’ll help you pull yourself together. I’ll send John over with the ice cream.” He speaks into his walkie talkie, relaying a new delivery point for the pint. “You can get outta here in just a few minutes. She doin’ okay?”

Chris shrugs his shoulders, his face expressing his unease. “No clue. She hung up. I’m guessing Ma is with her, but no one told me anything. That’s pretty fucked up,” he mumbles.

“Man, relax, women been havin’ babies for centuries. At least it’s early, and you’re not on another continent…” Chris bows his head, realizing how lucky he is for this small favor. “Call me with the news, and we can shift some schedules around. Take the family time you need.” He pats Chris on the back, passing him off to Tabby, the set intern.

“Family,” Chris sighs, his heart swelling with pride.

***

Settled in the back of the car, ice cream rested next to his thigh, Chris calls Emery again.

His mother in law answers the call. “She’s sleeping, Chris. The medicines make her fall asleep at the drop of a hat, mid-sentence. Want me to wake her?”

“Anita, just tell me. What’s wrong? I’m trying to get there as fast as I can.” He calculates quickly. “Traffic, this time of day, I can make it over there in about thirty minutes.”

“Believe me, son. You’ve got time. This little one is gonna be just as stubborn as it’s Daddy. Baby E doesn’t wanna say hello just yet.”

He nervously wipes his beard, watching out the front window as the driver maneuvers around traffic.

“Chris, she’s okay. Her amniotic fluid started to leak while we were on our morning walk. She wasn’t really having contractions or anything, but we decided to call Dr. Puckett. She was already at the hospital and told us to come in.” She breathes out slowly. “Emery’s having contractions, small but not enough to move the delivery along. Because of all the troubles she’s had, the medical team decided to give her Pitocin to speed things up, not put any more stress on her body.” His mother in law sighs. “She’s strong, honey. She’s gonna be okay. The medicines made her sick, but she’s walked around some-

“Why didn’t anyone call?” He swallows hard, trying to hold back his irritation.

“You know her, she wouldn’t let us. Said you were working, and Dr. Puckett said things were going to be slow. She begged your mom and I not to call you-

“Let me talk to Ma,” he barks, hitting his head back against the seat.

His mom’s soothing voice immediately calms him. “Chris, sweetheart. Everyone’s fine. She wanted you to work. The doc agreed it was gonna be several hours. You’re gonna be here. Baby E will be a week or two early, but healthy, and it’ll give you something to talk about on the the press tour besides spilling Marvel secrets.” There’s noise and a low moaning, almost a whimper. He taps the back of the driver’s seat and motions to drive faster. When his mother speaks again, she tells him. “The doc just came in here now, and it looks like they’re gonna attach a monitor around her belly. She’s waking up and you’ll be able to see her when you get here.”

Screenshot_20190413-082802_Pinterest.jpg

With only the sack of ice cream in his hand, he jogs down the long hallway. He tips his hat low to avoid recognition. Other new fathers carry flowers or stuffed animals, and somewhere down the hallway, a small baby cries. Normally the activity in the maternity wing would make him smile, but today he can only focus on one thing. His wife.

His love. His life. His whole world.

Nearing the room, he spies Dr. Puckett ahead, looking over a patient chart with another nurse. He stands back, leaning against the wall, clearing his throat and waiting for her attention. She lifts her head at the sound, smiling. With a small, delicate motion of her hand, she waves him over. “Chris, good to see you.” She shakes his hand, and nods to the nurse at her side. “This is Amber, she’s the best. She’s been with Emery all day, and plans to stay through, all right?” He nods. “Have you seen her yet?”

Crumpling the bag tighter in his hand, he shakes his head no.

“She looks a little pale, but she’s tough. Her body isn’t responding to the Pitocin, and she’s only dilated about four centimeters. With the amniotic fluid leaking, she does run a risk of infection-”

“Doc, is she going to be okay? I don’t wanna be an ass, but we can make another baby or adopt, but God help me, if anything happens to her-”

Placing her hand on Chris’s arm, Dr. Jamie Puckett’s exhaustion shows on her face. “Emery is fine, I promise, but the baby’s heart rate is dropping. The nurses are going to come in soon, and prep her for a C-section. I know that wasn’t really the plan, but in order to keep baby and Mom safe, I think it’s best.”

“Does she know yet?” Chris asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

The doctor shakes her head. “No, I was waiting till you arrived. Why don’t you go see her for a few minutes, and then I’ll be in and we’ll go get Baby E. You’ll be holding your baby within the next few hours.”

Screenshot_20190413-082958_Pinterest.jpg

Chris stirs from his chair as the nurse comes in, the morning rounds just beginning.

“Sorry to wake you,” she whispers.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he stands, his old bones creaking. Shit, maybe I’m too old for this Dad stuff, he thinks. “Didn’t get much rest.” The gravel in his voice is proof. He’d spent the night watching his wife and their tiny little one sleeping.

He needs coffee, in an IV, stat.

Memories of the night before flash through his mind, like a movie montage, nothing settled in place to seem real yet. The quiet afternoon, watching her sleep. Her strength and string of expletives when the epidural was administered. The rush to the operating room as both Emery’s and baby’s heart rates dropped. Suiting up in his new favorite uniform. Standing helpless, not wanting to see on the other side of the curtain. Holding their baby for the first time. Calling the mothers in for their first peek. The first attempt at breastfeeding.

The nurse checks some readings on the monitors, making notes in her charts. She quietly addresses Chris. “The pediatrician will be in soon, to check over the baby, and the lactation specialist. When your wife wakes-”

“I’m up,” says a sleepy voice. “Bring me my baby. And coffee. Can I have coffee? Like in an IV. Just inject it into my veins.”

Chris’s laughter draws her attention. He can see her struggle to turn to him. The drugs are still in her system, making all her movements sluggish.

“Hey, sexy Daddy. You thought the same thing, didn’t you?”

With tears in his eyes, he leans over and caresses his lips over her forehead. “You are mine, you know that, right?” The strong actor chuckles, weak in the knees. “You were made for me.”

hospital.JPG

Grabbing the collar of his t-shirt, she pulls him close, tenderly kissing his plump, inviting mouth. “Yeah, and together we made something special, a baby. Ours-” She kisses him again. “I want it, and I want coffee.”

The nurse giggles, “Now, Miss Emery,” she says calmly, like talking to a petulant child. “We talked about that yesterday. No coffee yet, not if you’re going to breastfeed.” She smirks at Emery’s huffing. “But you can take a sip or two of his.” She tilts her head to Chris, as he gently climbs into the hospital bed next to his wife.

“Fine. Bring him one. A big one. Thank you,” she says as a second thought, remembering her manners. The nurse drops the chart in the holder by the door. “Oh, can you get me a cheeseburger?” Emery calls out as the nurse leaves the room.

“Babe, it’s barely eight am.” Chris teases, cautiously lifting her upper body from the bed to tuck her to his side, his arm resting gently around her shoulders.

“Don’t care.” She scratches her cheek absently. The skin is swollen and red from an allergic reaction to the mask placed over her face during her surgery. “I had a baby last night. I want what I want.”

Sitting on the bed next to her, his exhausted, amazing wife settles against his chest. He breathes deeply, inhaling her scent, and he feels his world fall into place.

“I’m gonna be hearing about that for months, years, aren’t I?”

She pokes him in the ribs. “Big enough they had to cut it out. You made a tiny monster.” She giggles, loopy from medications. She rubs low across her belly, wincing as her hands near the bandages covering the incision. “Almost seven pounds. How was that even inside me? How is that even possible? No wonder complete strangers stopped to ask if I was having twins!”

“You know,” he says, twisting her fingers into his hand and raising them to kiss the back of her fingertips, careful not to bump her IV, “it’s not an ‘it’ now.”

baby E in hosp

“‘It’ has Daddy’s eyelashes.”

He chuckles, kissing the top of her head. “‘It’ has Mommy’s red hair.”

Before they can finish their verbal tease, she falls back to sleep peacefully. He continues to sooth his fingers through her hair, enjoying their last few minutes alone.

“Love you, forever, Em.” Squeezing her tightly, he lays back against the pillow, hoping to get some more rest of his own.

after baby cuddle

With the little bundle snuggled in his arms, wrapped tightly in a Captain America blanket, Chris steps into the lounge, full of family and friends. “Hey, everyone,” he says with enough authority to garner everyone’s attention, but not to wake the baby. “Thought you’d wanna meet Kaileigh Grace Evans.”

20190413_083303.jpg

Screenshot_20190413-083058_Pinterest.jpg

347a8227c7827b2adcb31d6b66b3bb00.jpg

Author’s Note: Remember in Surprises Ahead? Emery tells Chris, “Read it with a Southern accent. The first syllable? Rhymes with ‘thai.”

**Images found on Pinterest**

Story will update when Muse strikes. I actually wrote a baby story 3+ years ago, but in the vision I wrote from, I didn’t know the baby’s name or gender. In February 2019, the name just popped in my head one morning while I was in the shower! Until that moment, I had no idea if it was going to be a little boy or girl for the Evans’!

If you want to know more about Emery and Chris, read the novella Georgia on My Mind, and their additional stories

Copyright © 2019 avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

Museum Musings

1552224051800.jpg

Museum Musings

Being Thalia

Chapter 20

By devikafernando & avenger-nerd-mom

AU Fan Fiction

In the sequel to Educating Thalia, the lovely Thalia Bareo is growing up, making her own way in the world after losing both men she loved, Professors Chris Evans and Tom Hiddleston. The sassy full-figured Puerto Rican girl from Chicago holds down a job in Madrid as she tries to deal with the real world. She continues her studies and freelances as a consultant for museums around the world. Being Thalia updates are posted on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Warning: As a whole, this work contains adult content. If you proceed you have agreed that you are willing to see such content. Each chapter will not be coded with individual warnings. The overall story contains no hidden triggers.

If you are new to the series and characters, click here to the beginning of Educating Thalia.

If you are looking for other stories in the sequel, click here for the beginning of Being Thalia

Word Count: 3046

Summary: Thalia enjoys showing off for Tom at the museum, sharing her work with him.

Images found on Pinterest

Previous Chapter, Opportunity Calls

Thalia is standing on the grey stone steps in front of the National Archaeological Museum, a grand neoclassical building that seems just perfect for containing such immeasurable wealth. As museum curator, she can practically offer a tour of the place blindly. But today is different. Today she’ll keep her eyes wide open and her wits about herself because experiencing this with Tom will be a completely new experience.

Smoothing her hair back, she checks no loose strands have fallen from the elegant twist she’s finally mastered for her wild mane. Thalia glances at her watch. It’s ten to one. Surely Tom hasn’t changed so much that he’s stopped being overly punctual? Then again, what does she really know about the present version of Tom, as opposed to the one that dragged her under and turned her inside out six years ago? People can change within the span of days, for fuck’s sake. Looking down at her colorfully designed dress, she knows she’s definitely moved on from the person she was. Essentially, though, she’s still herself.

And Tom? Despite her misgivings, there’s a yearning inside her to get to know the man he is now. There’s something in his eyes, in his voice, that takes her right back to where they started, and yet new impressions wiggle their way into their interactions. She’s noticed a new gentleness, almost a cautious hesitancy about him. It makes her itch to take the upper hand for once but another part of her wants to submit, relive what used to be. Fuck if he hasn’t got her tied in knots just like in the past! Thalia grimaces, shifting from one foot to the other. She’s wearing her favorite camel colored shoes, their heels neither too high nor too low, but just right to elongate her legs.

That’s another thing that should annoy her… She spent entirely too much time worrying about her outfit for the day. Normally she wouldn’t give a rat’s ass what she wore to a morning stockholders meeting, but knowing she’d be seeing him after, she’d put a little extra care into her clothing choice. Something fashionable she’d picked up at the market with Lucía, a little revealing, but not too much, just enough so it hints at her voluptuous figure. Thalia wants Tom to look his fill but not to ignore her words because of her body.

20190310_083504.jpg

The sound of shoe soles on scuffed stone makes her turn towards the left. There he is, in a navy sweater, a sport coat, giving off a collegiate air, and black jeans, his scuffed grey suede shoes making his go-to outfit complete.

Of course he’s on time. She feels herself smile at him, surprised to realize that she’s genuinely looking forward to touring the museum with him because she knows they share similar interests.

Bienvenido al Museo Arqueológico Nacional,” she greets warmly. She can feel his eyes sweep over her figure, and he turns his head to hide his approving smile before removing his sunglasses and storing them inside a coat pocket.

Tom’s in front of her now, and for a moment she has no idea how to greet him. “Tan colorido, so colorful. Eres bonita, Thalia.” He moves in for a hug, quick and chaste, but she hears him inhale deeply when she returns the gentle pressure.

“Ready to show off?” he asks, his eyes crinkling with his grin.

“Absolutely.” She steps back from his grasp, waiting for a tour group to pass. “I’m assuming you’ve done your homework and informed yourself a little about what to expect?” She uses her best stern teaching voice and sees Tom’s grin widen.

“Sí, Profesora Bareo,” he intones in his best Spanish accent, making something flutter inside her against her will.

“Well, let me hear it then,” she says as they begin walking up the steps to the entrance with its majestic columns and its proud letters spelling out Museo Arqueológico Nacional, which tends to be shortened to M.A.N. by insiders. He chuckles, recognizing her reference to his typical start to a class session, when he questioned the group to know if they had done their assigned readings.

They’re walking so close their arms almost touch. It’s simultaneously exhilarating– because nobody would care if they did touch– and unnerving. So Thalia stomps down on her wayward emotions and focuses on his cultured voice reciting words from heart that he must’ve found online.

“Well, the M.A.N. was founded by the royals in the mid-19th century and covers pretty much everything from prehistoric times to the Renaissance. What’s interesting is that it contains so many exhibits with a religious significance because lots of the items were removed from monasteries and churches.” He pauses as he goes through the motions of buying a ticket while Thalia flashes a badge and exchanges friendly nods. “If I remember correctly, some of the museum’s highlights are the Lady of Elx bust and the prehistoric cave paintings of Altamira, the ones we discussed in London.”

Thalia gives him a nod, unable to keep the teasing tone out of her reply. “I see your brain hasn’t slackened with age. I was a bit worried that the M.A.N. might overwhelm you.”

He puffs out his chest and feigns indignation, a hand rising to his chest as if wounded. It makes the sweater stretch all too fetchingly across his well-defined pecs and abs. Jesus, she can even see his nipples outlined beneath the well-worn fabric.

“I am mortally offended by how little faith you have in me.” There’s a sad undertone beneath it, as if he’s indeed aware that she might be lacking faith in him. “I’m 42, not on the edge of death, dear.”

She chuckles. “This way,” she steers him into the first hall of exhibitions, choosing to let the topic rest.

Tom shoves his hands into his pockets in a move she hasn’t seen often. So he won’t touch her? Or so he won’t touch the exhibits because he is by all means a very tactile person?

Focus, she should focus. “This…” she gesticulates, “is actually what we call the New Museum. Between 2003 and 2013, the whole place was remodeled and renovated. Not only did they refurbish the building itself but they also changed the permanent exhibition and made parts of the M.A.N. more interactive. We’ve now got bigger common areas, better security and modern technical solutions that make the exhibitions easier to understand for visitors from all over the world.”

Tom nods, sticking to her side as they meander along between glass cases and pictures on the wall. She notices him pay attention to every detail, even lifting his head to study the hall, the ceiling, the lighting. It’s so like him to drink in the whole experience, to all but wallow in the details that make it complete.

There isn’t much for her to add to the information displayed so they walk in silence, finding their leisurely way to the second hall.

“Any idea how many people visit the museum annually?” Tom asks, nearly folding his tall body in half to bed over a case and peer at ancient scrolls. His thin lips move silently as he tries to read them.

“Around eight hundred thousand per year, by our estimates. There was a huge increase ever since the M.A.N. reopened.”

Tom gives a low whistle, righting himself. He winces slightly, rubbing his back. She clears her throat, sorry for teasing him about being older.

“So there’s six floors altogether, divided into areas with common topics, right?”

He’d done his homework well.

“Yes. There’s a lot of space to work with, for public and internal uses. The permanent exhibition alone spreads over more than 9000 m2.”

He looks duly impressed before spending a long time reading a board. Thalia uses the moment to study him. His jawline is covered in gingery scruff, looking less razor-sharp. His eyes crinkle when he squints, leaning forward to read, before reaching in his pocket to pull out a pair of glasses. His gaze darts to hers and she giggles as he blushes. She steps back to answer a quick question from another museum visitor before turning her attention back to Tom, watching him, analyzing him, just as she would an exhibit. There are fine lines on his face and she can see a tiny permanent frown etched between his brows. Thankfully, his hairline hasn’t receded more, though his hair looks different now that he isn’t cutting it short. Now it’s her turn to stuff her hands into the pockets on her dress because she’s feeling the urge to touch.

“How many exhibits do you have?” Breaking her from her revery, Tom inquires, ever the inquisitive seeker of knowledge.

“Around 15,500, give or take a few. The largest number of exhibits are for the areas Prehistoria and Oriente Próximo as well as Edad Media.”

She watches the look of concentration on his face as Tom fidgets with his glasses and figures out the translation for the words, such as Middle Ages.

They continue on their tour, Tom’s long legs and never-waning enthusiasm sometimes taking him ahead. But he keeps circling back to her side, asking questions, soaking up the tidbits of additional information that she can offer. Thalia, in turn, pays less attention to the exhibits than usual, making Tom her focal point. His face hasn’t lost its astounding ability to express so much in silence. He reads and looks, his features contorting in shared pain, widening in awe, rearranging themselves to fit the emotions and stories that the exhibits evoke.

The two of them leave the prehistoric areas behind and work their way through the Greek and Roman influence on Spain, which seems to fascinate Tom even more. Now he’s the one who adds little snippets of insight, relying on his knowledge of ancient Greek and Latin. He seems fixated on the emperor Hadrian, the one who built the famous Hadrian’s Wall in Britain.

“I went to see part of it,” Tom tells her. “The Millennium Bridge was rather fascinating, on the eastern side of the River Irthing where the remains of the bridge lie that once carried Hadrian’s Wall across the water.”

She nods. “I’ve visited parts of it too.”

“Of course you have.”

He beams at her, such approval in his velvety purr that it makes her want to press her thick thighs together. Instead, she pushes him on. Statues and busts mix with bronze legal texts, pottery and coins. Tom stares and stares at the well-preserved mosaics like that of a colorful quadriga, a carriage drawn by four horses.

Several halls later, they take a break in the cafeteria, and Thalia has to battle flashbacks of similar situations, even of their hidden conversations on campus and their meals on the outskirts of their former college town.

Tom’s body is sprawled in the smallish chair, his legs nearly tangling with hers beneath the table, his beautiful fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee.

“What’s next?” he wants to know.

“The medieval exhibition.”

His face scrunches up in thought. “Ah, the Arab influence?”

It shouldn’t please her that he knows enough about Spanish history to guess correctly. Thalia nods, taking her own sip of coffee. She’s barely taken more than a few bites out of her sandwich while Tom has demolished two pastries. He seems more relaxed now, but not all of his smiles reach his eyes. Why?

They sit in silence for a while, the sounds of other visitors filling in around them. Suddenly Tom lifts his head, something steely in his grey-blue eyes.

“You’re very good at this, Thalia. Guiding and lecturing.” There’s something about his voice that sets her on alert. “I’m not surprised. I experienced once before that you’re a pro at conferences and presentations now.”

Slightly on edge now, she nods. “Despite some people trying to mansplain things to me occasionally?”

He has the decency to flinch and apologize again. Thalia waits, wondering why he would bring up this topic.

“I went to your first one, you know.”

He’s not talking about their panel in London? She blinks, thinking she’s misheard him. “You what?”

He nods grimly, a tiny muscle ticking in his jaw. “I did. Traveled all the way to your first ever speaking event in Toronto. Not because I thought you’d need moral support, mind you. I was certain you would ace it. But because I had to see for myself.”

Something lodges in her throat at the same time as her heart aches. He came to see her? But… but he never came to speak to her? Her brain is drawing a blank. Why didn’t he approach her that day? It would have made a difference for both of them, wouldn’t it?

“Turns out,” his mouth twists downwards in bitterness or pain, “you already had someone else there for moral support.”

She turns cold, her hands beginning to tremble over her mug. She hides them in her lap and lifts her chin. Thalia fights to keep her voice steady. “What do you mean?”

“I saw you there, with him.”

There’s no need to elaborate. He’s only ever used that tone for one person. Chris. And now the memories come back, of Chris being there at the venue and later taking her out on the town.

Tom’s fingers clench around the cup, his usually ruddy knuckles going white before he unclenches them deliberately and sets his hands in his lap. Sitting back, she can see him try to loosen up.

“You didn’t need me then. I should have known that but it was still a shock.”

Thalia lets that sink in, unsure what to do with that confession. “Do you…do you need me needing you?”

He scowls, then shakes his head. “I probably did, yes. But I’ve realized now that it isn’t just that. I never wanted you dependent on me, Thalia. I hope you know that. But it did wonders to my ego that you were there, ready to submit sometimes, to turn to me. And over the past few years, I’ve taught myself to live without that. But…” He rubs the back of his neck, seeks out her gaze. “But I still want you. Want you to want me.”

She can’t deal with this now, just can’t. Shoving her chair back, she stands, and ever the gentleman he hastens to get up as well.

“Let’s get going,” she mumbles. “There’s still so much to see.”

“And so much to learn,” she hears Tom mutter under his breath, realizing that he means more than the exhibits. She’s caught him looking at her intently several times today, a small proud smile on his face as he watched her in her element. And even though she isn’t actively seeking out and craving his validation, it does feel damn good. After all, she’s worked with him as a student and professional for years; she knows how hard-earned his approval can be because he’s such a damn perfectionist and knows so freaking much that he tends to expect the same from others.

20190310_083530.jpg

Strangely, the next few hours pass amicably, without any more tension. It’s as if Tom had been building up towards his confession and can finally live in the here and now. He becomes more cheerful by the minute, swallowing up the knowledge like vitamin pills. He touches her elbow a few times, even snatches her hand once to haul her over to an interactive exhibit. And then he keeps holding it and it feels exactly right. She doesn’t even pull her fingers out of his gentle-but-firm grasp when they meet a colleague of hers and chit-chat for a while. They only let go so they could gesticulate wildly as they were talking with the older gentleman.

They enter the last hall with the Modern Era exhibition, walking closer together now, more relaxed. This one’s very dear to her too because it encompasses the discovery of the New World and the Spanish influences on countries that today belong to South and Central America. Thalia sneaks some insights on Puerto Rico in, Tom hanging on her every word.

“Whoa,” she teeters when a group of bored-out-of-their-mind children dash by so closely that she’s shoved out of the way. Two strong arms grab her as she collides with Tom’s solid chest and fights the urge to snuggle right into his hold. Then he shifts and something pokes her thigh.

Thalia freezes, extricates herself and peeks down. Her cheeks flush.

“Are you so happy to see me?”

Tom blushes even redder, chuckling sheepishly. “I am, yeah. But it’s not just that, I’m afraid. It’s this place, all the wisdom, you giving me lectures…”

“So museums give you a boner?”

His guffaw makes a gaggle of women look over, then give him longing once overs that make Thalia feel oddly possessive.

“You could say that.” Then his voice lowers and his eyes gleam with mischief, sending a hot lick of fire across her skin. “But it sure helps that the knowledge comes wrapped in such a deliciously tempting package.”

He hasn’t flirted with her all afternoon but this single attempt is enough to make her want to combust. Dammit, and she thought she would be immune to him.

Swatting his arm, Thalia steps away to a safer distance. “Well, I hope not all your blood has traveled south yet because we have a last hall to visit.”

Sniggering, Tom follows her. “I swear it’s you and not the…well, ‘busty’ busts of erstwhile queens,” he adds with a wink as they pass by a naked marble sculpture.

This time, she elbows him in the ribs so he rubs his side with a winded ‘oof’.

“Behave, Hiddleston.”

“Yes, professor.” He chuckles when she mumbles under her breath about statue kink.

He blinks innocently at her as they round a corner and enter the last exhibition. And with a sinking feeling, Thalia admits to herself that she’s enjoying this. Even wants to do this again.

Fuck, that wasn’t the plan. But to be honest, it’s not a big surprise either. Whether that’s healthy or not, Tom has always held a part of her happiness in his big hands.

Click here for Chapter 21, Digging into the Past

Copyright © 2019 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!”

Click here to read the next Emery&Chris story, Private Dancer

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