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There’s an old saying Ellie’s heard her father say before: the best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago. The second best time is now.
Even if he was using it to make some esoteric political point – the nuances of which were lost on her – Ellie doesn’t actually mind the sentiment.
It’s how she ended up on Andy Wyatt’s doorstep two days ago, how she ended up in Andy’s bed not long after.
That same bed is now empty, except for her, a warm dent in the sheets left by Andy’s body, and Ellie smiles, running her fingers over it, listening to the sound of the coffee maker rumbling to life downstairs.
It’s easy, it’s simpler than it has any right to be, and that should make Ellie feel guilty, but strangely… it doesn’t.
Seven years they’ve been doing this, off and on, and Ellie still isn’t sure how to define their relationship.
Romance seems a bit too strong, but also a bit too… simple.
Friends doesn’t come close to encompassing it – though that may be Ellie’s latent Catholicism barking at the door, telling her she can’t be friends with anyone who’s buried their face between her legs the way Andy has – but it feels good too.
And Ellie had shown up here, very pregnant, wanting someone she could just be with.
(Andy has always made that easier for her.)
She’s jolted from her thoughts, first by a kick from the baby, as if to say aren’t you forgetting something?
Second, by the appearance of Andy in the doorway, holding two mugs of coffee.
“Howdy.”
“Andy,” Ellie manages, a little breathlessly – partially because even after seven years, a mess of bedhead, and the most ridiculous plaid pajamas Ellie has ever seen, Andy still looks gorgeous, and partially because the baby has now lodged a foot in her ribcage – “Uh. Hi. Morning.”
“Good morning,” Andy says, bringing over the mug as Ellie struggles to sit up.
“Is that-?”
“Decaf,” Andy confirms with a laugh, pressing the warm mug into Ellie’s hands.
Ellie is relieved. “Great.”
“And made the way you like it.” Andy’s smile is a bit wan, bit sincere. “If being in Congress doesn’t work out, I think I could make a great barista.”
Ellie laughs too now, and the very fact that she’s laughing makes her laugh harder, because she’s here, and it’s… it’s just fun.
Andy is smiling too, watching Ellie laugh.
“You always did look good in green,” Ellie says, eyeing the pajamas again.
She’d managed to avoid most of the urgency of the second trimester, had carefully managed it with her own hands – while she could still reach – and then a vibrator, because Vic got nervous about hurting the baby, no matter how unscientific and stupid it was.
But now, watching the spot where Andy’s pajama top gapes open slightly between two buttons, showing off the soft skin underneath, Ellie feels a hunger roar to life, starting to consume her like a forest fire.
She tries to ignore it, sipping on her coffee, but she can feel her cheeks starting to burn, and it’s not the heat of the room.
Andy climbs back into bed beside her, setting her own coffee mug down on the bedside table, her eyes glittering with amusement.
“You hungry?”
“Yeah,” Ellie says, lust-addled enough that she doesn’t care what comes out of her mouth, her eyes falling to the half-untied waistband of Andy’s pajamas. “I could eat.”
Andy’s mouth curves into a smile. “Yeah?”
Ellie’s confidence falters, but only a little.
Andy must catch the look on her face, her own expression tender, because she leans over, taking the mug from Ellie’s hands, and putting it down next to her own.
“Have I told you lately?” she asks, pressing a hand to Ellie’s belly, the other hand coming up to cup Ellie’s cheek, her breath coffee-warm on Ellie’s lips. “How gorgeous you look?”
“I look like I swallowed a beach ball,” Ellie replies, her own nervousness starting to win out, because while she was never especially self-conscious about her looks, pregnancy is a whole other biological ballgame.
“Gorgeous,” Andy repeats firmly. “I know glowing is a cliché but you really are absolutely-.”
Ellie can’t take it any longer, closing the tiny gap between them, clumsily pressing her lips against Andy’s, the molten heat settling between her thighs as she does, pulsing outwards, demanding that she be touched.
Andy kisses her back, before pulling away.
“May need a raincheck on breakfast,” she says casually. “I know you’re hungry-.”
“I’m hungry for you,” Ellie rasps, and then cringes. “God, I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”
“Stop.”
Ellie shuts up.
And then Andy smiles in a way that sets off a whole new chain reaction of electrons and synapses and a hefty dose of dopamine, reaching down to trace her fingers along the half-rucked up hem of Ellie’s nightshirt, her warm fingers tantalizingly close to Ellie’s bare thigh, brushing along so close to where Ellie wants her.
“So,” Andy says, still casual. “Breakfast in bed?”
Ellie stares at her for a moment, confused, and then she gets it, feeling herself pulse.
“Wait. Congresswoman. Andy.”
Andy laughs. “God I love when you call me that.”
“I need- I…” Ellie wants Andy’s hand, still resting on her thigh, to move just a few inches, wants to kiss her, wants so so very much that she thinks it’ll drive her crazy.
“What do you need?” Andy asks, tucking Ellie’s hair back from her face.
“Anything. Please.”
Andy nods, gently straddling Ellie’s bare thighs, shoving her nightshirt out of the way.
And then they’re kissing again, properly, Andy’s one hand tangling in Ellie’s hair as she slips her fingers inside the waistband of Ellie’s panties, Ellie moaning into her mouth as Andy’s fingers find her clit, already swollen with lust.
“Honey, so slick already,” Andy breathes into Ellie’s lips, like she’s not the sole cause of that particular effect, and Ellie just whines.
She can feel the tightness starting to build in the pit of her stomach, that all-consuming need and want.
Her hips jerk up against Andy’s fingers, spreading her legs wider, as if she can somehow get closer, Andy’s whole hand inside her panties now, the heel of her hand rubbing against Ellie’s clit, her fingers teasing lower, exploring by touch alone.
Ellie is a mess, shivering and needy as Andy kisses her, still feeling so warm.
This is the first sex she’s had while very pregnant, her nipples hard inside her shirt, the friction driving her just as crazy as Andy is, and all she can think is why the hell did I wait so long?
She whimpers again at the loss of Andy’s mouth on hers, but then Andy starts to press kisses down her jawline.
Like Ellie is something to be savored, desired, wanted.
This more than anything has her bucking into Andy’s fingers, whining in a way that’s just undignified, slick all over the crease of her thighs.
Still, she thinks she’s doing an admirable job of making it last, of hanging on so that she can really enjoy it.
Until Andy’s mouth finds her nipple through the fabric, heat and pressure, and Ellie moans, her head falling back.
“Oh God, Andy, oh- fuck, God-.”
It’s said breathlessly, her hips rising to meet Andy’s hands, and Andy is relentless, her mouth and fingers slowly working to obliterate any sense of control Ellie has.
The heat and pressure build, Ellie’s whole body going taut.
“Oh God, nngh, Andy, Andy-.”
Andy’s fingers brush her clit again, just as she sucks at Ellie’s nipple, pleasure sparking across every one of Ellie’s very raw nerve endings, crackling at the base of her spine, and then she loses it, her whole body collapsing in on itself, fluttering against Andy’s fingers, slickness leaking from her.
And then she feels something else entirely, leaking from her, because in the heat of the moment she totally forgot: very pregnant = very small bladder.
“Oh God,” Ellie manages faintly, coloring red, embarrassed, unable to stop it as she loses control, the soft hiss loud in the sudden silence.
But Andy doesn’t seem at all bothered, in fact seems almost nonchalant about it.
And then, despite what’s happening, despite the fact that Ellie is very technically peeing on her, she resumes her touching, raising her head to watch Ellie’s face as she coaxes her through the aftershocks, just on the sexy side of overstimulation.
Finally, it dies down, and Ellie would rather like to die with it.
But as she watches, Andy raises her fingers to her mouth, and licks them clean.
“God,” Ellie manages. “I’m sorry.”
“What for? That was fun.”
“… Fun?”
Andy just laughs, gently tugging Ellie’s now soaked panties back into place. “Fun. So… breakfast first, or…?”
“Let me get cleaned up,” Ellie says, pressing another clumsy kiss to Andy’s mouth, not sure if she should be mortified or turned on.
(The consensus from her body is, well, both actually.)
“And then we should talk,” Andy says, looking over at where Ellie’s wedding band is sitting on the nightstand.
“Yes,” Ellie says. “But first, it’s your turn.”
“That sounds fun,” Andy agrees.