chelseaheskett

[chelseaheskett]

She'd always been a numbers girl. Math was reliable. Unchanging, unfeeling. Sums were the same, no matter what—everything always added up the way it was supposed to. Labour was less predictable, less concrete. There was a plan, there were preferences; but it was all unknown. Uncharted territory. And Chelsea didn't fit with the regular equation to begin with. There was no partner in the room with her, no ring on her finger, no father to this baby. No sex equals pregnancy. This was science. This was all hers. A labour of love she built all on her own. She was the architect of her own future, and this had always been what she wanted. What she wished for.

She couldn't even tell you the last time she'd actually had sex. The positions seemed to be the same, at least—down on her hands and knees in the hospital bathroom, hot water spraying out from the plastic showerhead and hitting her in the back. Her mom was directing the flow of water, crouching half-soaked beside her. She'd been the one to come with her to all the birthing classes, all of her appointments. She was her partner in all this. Everyone else had relationships or marriages, and Chelsea had her mom. Even if she had done this pregnancy on her own, she wasn't alone. Her mother never let her be alone.

Donna stayed with her, even after 22 hours of labour. Counting stopped feeling helpful, or a comfort, after that big a number. A number made up of painful minutes, seconds, moments. And Chelsea was post dates. 41 weeks plus two days. That, at least, was normal. Typical for first time moms, they told her. Same with the long labour. Her body didn't quite know what to do the first time around, and neither did she. Was getting to the point where she started to question why she had ever wanted to do this in the first place. Questioned if she was even really here, or human. It felt animalistic, almost. The primal noises she didn't realise she was ever even capable of making. And the pain... The pain was everywhere: in her abdomen with the contractions constantly surging, in her lower back pulling apart purple, in the pressure in her bum. It was getting to be too much. She couldn't take much more of this.

She was a crier, and right now she couldn't even do that. Cried out, instead. Sweated excessively. But no tears. All her energy was spent trying to breathe through the next contraction, and then the next, and the next. It didn't end. It would never end. The rest between them didn't feel like enough. Didn't feel spaced out properly. Her mom had to call the midwife into the room to help her up from the bathroom floor. "I want that epidural now." No please, no manners. An uncharacteristic edge to her voice. Donna let her dig her nails into the skin at the back of her hand. Led her, with the midwife, toward the hospital bed back out into the birthing room.

"I think it might be a little late for that now, Chelsea!" The midwife gave her an empathetic smile.

No. "No. Please." Manners back, only because she was begging. Chelsea couldn't even remember the woman's name. Couldn't remember that her plan had specifically involved not having an epidural, or any sort of pharmacological pain relief. Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course, but that had been her preference. Had tried everything in her power to make this as normal as possible, given the circumstances. Given the rounds of IVF, and how medical and sterile it had felt at first. Just so... clinical. The medications, the injections. And given that her own mother had given birth to her without anything, and countless other women before her had... Chelsea tried to make it a calm and easy birth environment. They had string lights, and a diffuser with essential oils, and a playlist of Mumford and Sons playing over a portable speaker. She'd spent the majority of the labour bouncing on a birthing ball, or pacing around, or under the water in the shower. Upright. Gravity, and all that.

Now? Fuck that. She couldn't do this anymore.

"Is it okay if I do another internal exam to see how dilated you are, Chelsea? See how close we are to meeting your baby?"

Donna ushered her to sit down on the edge of the bed. Chelsea gripped the railing, trying to force all the pain and feeling from her body out of her hands. "But I want an epidural." She whimpered. Half-hearted, exhausted. Her mom combed a hand back through her hair.

"Let's see how dilated you are, and then we can see if we have time to get you that epidural. How does that sound?"

Chelsea whined, but conceded. Moved back onto the bed in time for the next contraction to hit her at full force. "I can't do this." She said, breathless and through gritted teeth once it started to peter out.

"You're doing it, honey." Donna replied, still playing with her hair, pushing it out of her face.

She didn't even have the energy to respond. Consented and spread her legs wide when the midwife asked, gloves pulled up to her elbows. She rummaged around inside her, doing her assessment. Chelsea pressed her head back into the pillow. Hated being in this position. She kept her fingers strained and aching around the side railing. The midwife was practically in and out, at least. Over and done with before another contraction knocked the wind out of her. The woman thumbed Chelsea's leg for comfort, soothing her through it. And once it was done, she told Chelsea her findings.

"You're fully dilated, my dear. It's almost time to have this baby!"

Chelsea didn't even have it in her to be relieved. It still felt so endless, and the exhaustion was starting to set into her bones. She felt so weak. So tired. Donna teared up beside her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze over the bed railing.

Fully dilated meant no chance in hell of getting an epidural. But that was fine. Everything was perfectly fine! Chelsea didn't want to be bedbound, anyway. It had never been part of the plan. Her mom helped her get back on her feet. Chelsea leaned all of her weight into Donna's body, and her mom enveloped her in her arms. They swayed together on the spot. "You're doing such a good job, Chicky. You're doing so good." Donna whispered, mouthing over her hair. Rubbed her back through another contraction. Chelsea violently shook through a tidal wave of pain. "Hey, hey, why don't you give the gas a try, honey? See if that helps?" Her mom quietely suggested. Chelsea nodded, a little frantic.

The midwife raised the bed up for her, so Chelsea could lean over real easy and dig her elbows into the mattress. Approached her, the doppler and ultrasound gel bottle in hand. Chelsea broke away from her mom's embrace to give the woman some wiggle room. Caught sight of her name tag when she bent down to walk her hands over Chelsea's pregnant stomach. Jordan. Yeah, that was her name. Had come in on the 7am shift and replaced the overnight midwife, Matilda. This was, what? The fifth midwife she'd seen in the past 24 hours? And Chelsea had been fully naked for forever, at this point. Had been in too much pain to even care or feel self-conscious about it. They were going to see it all and more soon enough, anyway. It didn't matter, in the grand scheme of things. Any sort of dignity she had left had long left the room.

The baby's heartbeat was like a horse trot. The stacatto rhythm was making her feel sick. Queasy. She glanced up at her mom. "Gas?" She said, barely audible. Was scared that if she talked properly that she'd throw up.

Her mom spoke up for her. "Is it okay if Chelsea tries the gas, Jordan?"

"Yeah, of course!" She said, enthusiasm setting Chelsea's teeth on edge. Jordan shut off the doppler and wiped the leftover gel from her belly with a paper towel. "Baby's heart rate is looking great! Let's get you set up on the gas and then we can start pushing, hey?"

Chelsea nodded again, slightly drawing in on herself. Wanted the talking to stop. Needed everybody to shut up already. She tried to focus on the music. Tried to swallow down the acidic taste burning at the back of her throat. Jordan pulled the tubing of the nitrous oxide gas over to Chelsea's side of the bed and instructed her on how to use it. Continously breathe it in and out through the mouthpiece. Chelsea nodded quick, annoyed, hoping to hurry her along before another contraction started. She just needed to take the edge off.

Perfect timing. Chelsea bit down, hard, on the mouthpiece; moaning around it as a contraction tightened across her abdomen. Was practically shrieking through every inhale and exhale until the medication finally started to take effect. Started to make her head feel fuzzy. The pain was still there, was still intense, but just... further away. Foggy. Air rattled around inside the tubing, and the sound pricked at her ears. Even once the ache of the contraction was gone, she kept breathing the gas in and out. Blinked slow, and slow, and slower.

There was a man in the room. Behind her eyes. Was it a doctor? An obstetrician? Was she just seeing things? She felt like she was floating. Maybe it was her dad, coming to say hello. Maybe it was her son that she was surely—surely!?—soon to meet. Whoever he was, whatever he was... He grinned at her, bright white teeth poking out of his smile. Chelsea sucked in more medicated air. There were creases around his eyes that rippled out toward his cheeks. Rippled because his eyes were so blue—bluer and brighter than anything she'd ever seen before. Bluer than the hospital gown they'd originally tried to stick her into, or the clear summer sky warming up the room through the birth suite window behind him. Bluer than the Goddamn gas tubing. And her head was swimming. She was drowning in them. In him.

Her mom frantically tapped her on the cheek, eyebrows furrowed in concern. "That's enough, honey." Gently coaxed the mouthpiece from her lips so she'd stop breathing in any more of it.

Chelsea grunted in response; fists screwed up in the bed sheets, head bowed like she was praying.

She was.

The fantasy dissipated as fresh, unmedicated air filtered into her lungs. Chelsea half-smiled toward the window, where she thought she'd seen the man through her haze. "I'm okay." She replied, throaty. "I'm feeling okay now." Everything was going to be okay! She could do this! "I'm feeling good—"

Oh. Oh no. Chelsea gagged with her entire body. Held onto the edge of the mattress so she wouldn't keel over, scared the straining was going to send her flying or falling. "Sick bag!" Donna called, urgency in her voice. The midwife was already on it, holding a disposable vomit bag under Chelsea's chin. She retched inside it, emptying her stomach and filling the bag to the brim. The acidity made tears finally spring to her eyes. Jordan was fast—replaced the sick bag with another one in record time, before Chelsea heaved again with her whole body and puked into it.

So much for fresh air. Her throat felt raw, stripped and searing all the way down her oesophagus. Her tummy muscles, even without any contractions, felt tight from the full-body gagging. Chelsea tried to stop swaying on her feet, palms pressed flat against the hospital bed. Violently burped with shaking shoulders. She had nothing left to give, and yet still so much—she still had to birth her son. Vomiting wouldn't even be the worst of it.

Donna was just as quick as the midwife; had wet a washcloth from the sink and cleaned her face up with it. "I'm... I'm okay." Chelsea repeated, hardly even sounding human. It was a side effect of the nitrous oxide. Dizziness, drowsiness, detachment, light-headness, nausea, vomiting. "No more. No more gas." No more of any of this, please. She saw Jordan eye off the amount of sick in each bag and then throw it into the waste. The bags were blue. Chelsea tried to hold onto that. Blue. Ocean blue eyes. A perfect smile. What was waiting for her on the other side of all this.

She didn't throw up again, thank God, but when the next few contractions spread across her abdomen in great intensity, she felt desperate to go to the bathroom. Felt that urge and pressure in her bottom. More of her waters trickled down her legs and dripped onto the vinyl flooring of the birth suite. Jordan mopped it up with a towel under her shoe. Grabbed a thick mat from one of the cupboards and laid it down at Chelsea's feet. "Here you go, sweetie." She said during a break between contractions. "I'll put another towel down, too." Jordan smiled, an excited twinkle to her eyes. Donna was rubbing her back in circles, staying by her side. Stood on the mat, too. By the time Chelsea was vocalising through another contraction, Jordan had positioned herself down on the floor with the doppler back in hand, kneeling and looking up between Chelsea's legs. "Yes, Chelsea! Yes! Yes, just like that! You're doing amazing!" She cheered her on, barely audible beneath Chelsea's moaning.

"Take a breath, have a rest. You're doing so, so well, sweetie." Jordan encouraged once the latest contraction wore off. Sweat stuck hair to Chelsea's forehead. She blew some raspberries, lips tingling and trilling, trying to stabilise her breathing before it started all over again. The pain and the crying and the pushing.

"Oh, I can see some hair!" Jordan exclaimed, grinning up at her from the mat. Hair? Her little boy already had hair? Chelsea shouted through the ghost of a smile. Tears were freely falling down her face, now. He had hair. It made it all the more real. This was really happening? It was so hard to fathom that it was... That this person she had wanted to meet her entire life was almost here. It made her pushing more determined, more voluntary. She wanted to meet him. She wanted it so bad. Her mom covered her fist in the sheets with her own hand. Chelsea took hold of it, squeezing and straining with all her might until the contraction was gone and she had to force herself to relax. Recover. Be patient.

Another midwife came into the room. "How are we going in here?"

"Head's almost around the bend." Jordan replied, giddy. "Chelsea here is doing so incredible!" She handed the doppler over to the other midwife and shuffled on her knees to retrieve a bowl filled with warm water and cloth compresses. The new midwife—the midwife-in-charge, in fact—introduced herself to Chelsea; explained she was going to be here for this end part, praised her for her good work so far. Chelsea nodded, mouth fixed open to try to pull the air back into her lungs. Donna used her free hand to push sweat-soaked hair off her face again. Wiped her tears away.

Chelsea whimpered to her mom. "He has hair."

"Do you want to see, Chelsea?" Jordan asked. Chelsea's response came in the form of a deep whine in the back of her throat. Another contraction had her leaning over the hospital bed, tensing her entire body in pain. Her eyes were tightly screwed shut. Held her breath, like she was supposed to, while she pushed with all her might. "Look, Chelsea! Look down!" A mirror, a small rectangular slab with bevelled edges, was angled up at her from the mat on the floor. Chelsea blinked away her tears quick enough to see a tiny head retreat back into her body with the end of her contraction.

A sob tore through her chest. Donna was crying, too, but held up a bottle of water to her mouth. Stuck the straw between her teeth and encouraged her to drink. Stay hydrated. The other midwife was using the doppler on her lower abdomen, further down on her skin than it had been up to this point. He was sitting low in her pelvis. He was almost here. And Chelsea's heartrate surely had to match her baby's by now—fast paced and echoing throughout the room for everyone to hear. 130 beats per minute. She kept her eyes on the mirror, willing him to come back into view. Willing him to be here.

Bearing down on the next contraction, Chelsea practically squatted as she pushed, pushed, pushed. Jordan held the warm compress to the skin of her perineum, verbally encouraging and cheering her on from the ground. Donna and the other midwife tuned in, too. She tried with all her might to keep her eyes open, to see her son in the reflection.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Chelsea's primal sort of moaning devolved into repeated swearing. Yeah, she was gonna have to stop doing that once he was here. Be a good influence on her son and not cuss ever again. But fuck that, not yet! For now his tiny innocent ears were still covered—the crown of his head sitting between her legs. His little head of fair hair visible. He didn't pull back this time when the contraction waned. And it was a stretch she couldn't even begin to describe. The ring of fire. It was searing her skin, even under the warmth and safety of the cloth compress Jordan pressed tight between her openings. It burned so much that she saw white behind her eyes every time she blinked. Dots in her vision, an urgency to her screaming and swearing. The midwives told her to stop pushing, no matter how much she wanted to. Let her body slowly do the rest of the work on the next contraction. They didn't want her to tear, even if it sure as fuck felt like she already had. Was, with the way the baby was stretching her open. Jordan told her to breathe, because her heartrate was getting a little too high. Was it any fucking wonder!?

"Chelsea, Chelsea, reach down. Feel your baby!" Jordan gushed, placing a gentle palm on the back of her naked thigh. A much better suggestion. Wait, when had she put gloves on? One of Jordan's latex-covered hands supported the crown of the baby's head while it rested there. Chelsea untangled her aching fingers from the hospital bed sheets and extended her arm down to feel. Used the angled mirror's reflection to find him with her fingers. Her son had short, sticky strands of hair at the top of his head. He was real. Like, actually real. He was right there.

Chelsea's shoulders trembled from all her crying. Her mom stroked her back before intertwining their hands again. She was blubbering, too. "Another contraction's coming." Chelsea urged. Removed her hand from her son's head on instinct to grip onto the bed again.

"That's okay, that's okay. Just let your body do all the work. Try not to push! We're going to take this nice and slow. Just breathe, breathe. Breathe like you're blowing out a birthday candle! Yes, yes—just like that, Chelsea! Yes, amazing!" Jordan coached her, sitting up on her knees on the mat. Her hands were on the apex of the baby's head to control how fast he came out. Chelsea couldn't look in the mirror this time. The pain burned and ripped through her entire body. She grunted and groaned and squeezed her mom's hand so hard and strained that she could feel her pulse; feel the finger bones under her skin.

"Head's born!" Jordan called out. Took a cursory glance over to the clock on the wall in the corner of the room. "10:04." The midwife-in-charge scribbled it down in her file notes. "Look, Chelsea! You're so close! Next contraction and you get to meet your baby!"

Chelsea scrunched her face up, tears blinding the view of her baby's head poking out between her legs. He was just hanging from her body. Upside down and waiting. So close. So painful, but so close. She brushed her fingers over his sticky hair again, laughter breaking through her crying and heavy breathing and painful moaning. "Hi. Hi, baby." She managed to squeak out, thumbing his little forehead. One more contraction. Just one more. And Chelsea could feel it building. Smiled, in spite of it all.

Cold is the water It freezes your already cold mind Already cold, cold mind

And death is at your doorstep And it will steal your innocence But it will not steal your substance

But you are not alone in this And you are not alone in this As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand Hold your hand

And you are the mother The mother of your baby child The one to whom you gave life

And you have your choices And these are what make man great His ladder to the stars

10:06AM, TUESDAY. JULY 25TH, 2017.

He cried when he was born. A tiny but piercing scream, flailing his little limbs out. Was handed up to her between her legs. She was moving on autopilot, driven by an entire cocktail of hormones and intense emotions, and held him tight to her chest without a thought. Like it was natural, like she knew exactly what she was doing. Because she did. She'd waited her entire life for this. She was born to do this—was born to be a mother. To be his mother.

"Jack." She wept, her voice broken. "Hi, Jack." For the first time in a really long time, it didn't hurt to say her father's name. It wasn't just his anymore. It was her son's. And he was here, flush against her naked chest. He was here and he was hers, wrinkling his fair-haired eyebrows as he cried and his skin pinked up. With the weight of him against her, her heart felt full. Was this what true love felt like? Was this what people meant when they said they'd fallen in love at first sight? She had never felt so happy before. So euphoric and complete and whole, irregardless of her body's pain and protesting. She peppered his forehead with kisses, covered in vernix and blood and all manner of fluids. Chelsea didn't care. This was her son. "I love you. I love you so much. I love you, I love you." She pressed into his skin, so soft despite everything.

Donna had an arm wrapped around Chelsea's waist, keeping her upright and on her feet. Tilted her head against her shoulder and watched her grandson with bleary eyes. The midwives both started to pat Jack down dry with fresh, heated towels. Jordan assisted Chelsea in slowly turning around and sitting down on the bed. They had to measure blood loss, get her placenta out. Chelsea let them do whatever they wanted, let them move her however they so pleased—she was off in her own little world, one where she could only hear Jack's shallow breathing, could only see the obvious rise and fall of his chest against hers. Where everything else happened around her in a blur. She didn't notice the clamp closed around the cord, or Jordan verbally guiding her mom on how to cut it. Didn't notice the other midwife jabbing the shot of synthetic oxytocin into her thigh, or the separation bleed that followed, or Jordan drawing the placenta out of her body by the cord—not until the fullness in her vagina and the ache of more contractions snapped her out of her happy place.

Chelsea winced, throwing her head slightly back into the pillow from all the pressure and the pain. "Almost done, Chelsea! You're doing so well, my dear." Jordan assured her. "And done. Placenta born at 10:11." Had five minutes really already passed? The midwife-in-charge jotted down the time before coming back over to the bed with new linens. Warm blankets for both Chelsea and the baby. She covered them up and helped to adjust Jack higher up on Chelsea's chest, in line with her breasts in case he wanted to crawl and feed. Find it for himself.

He seemed happy where he was for now. His little arms were curled up against his chest, and his eyes were closed. Breathing even. Five minutes in a brand new world had to be tough. Tiring. "My sweet boy." Chelsea's crooned, hot tears rolling down her face. Down the dimples set beside her smile. The midwife-in-charge congratulated her and left the room. Jordan fixed a small-sized name tag around Jack's left ankle and another around his wrist. HESKETT, BABY OF CHELSEA GRACE. DOB: 07/25/2017. This was her son. This was her son.

Jack snuggled closer into her chest, readjusted himself to get comfy again. Jordan wrapped the blanket tighter over his bare body. Patted Chelsea's leg. "Is it okay if I give your tummy a good rub and see how much you're bleeding, sweetie?" Chelsea honest to God didn't care what they did or didn't do. Was so happy and exhausted and high on life that nothing else mattered. After giving her such a gift and caring for her so well, Jordan could do anything. Chelsea nodded anyway, giving her consent to proceed.

Rubbing her uterus hurt. Chelsea yelped. Squirmed. Well. She had said anything. Jack wriggled around, too, disturbed by her movement and noises. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm almost done, I promise!" Jordan apologised with a sympathetic grimace. "Your uterus is firm and central, which is exactly what we like to see, Chelsea!" Whew. That was good. And it stayed all good until she had to check her for tears. Jordan prodded around inside her with a gauze swab. More pain, more squirming. "I'm just gonna go get one of the doctors to come have a look, is that alright, Chelsea?" She said after a minute or two, withdrawing her hand. What the hell did that mean? Chelsea furrowed her eyebrows, frowning, and nodded.

With Jordan out of the room, Donna leaned over the side of the bed and caressed Jack's cheek. Chelsea jumped, startled. Had completely forgotten her mom was even there in the room with them. "He's so beautiful, Chelsea." Donna sniffled. "I'm so proud of you." She paused, considering her words. "And your dad would be so, so proud of you. He is. I know he is."

Chelsea's expression crumbled. Snot and tears dribbled down her chin. Jack blinked an eye open, looking around for a moment or two at the commotion before settling. Dozing off again. Chelsea buried her face in his hair. Tried to compose herself before meeting Donna's gaze again. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, honey." Donna thumbed a fresh tear from her cheek. "You did it."

She'd done it.

Jordan came back into the room with a doctor in tow. He greeted her and explained that he wanted to check her for tears, too. He got the go-ahead, gloved up and dug around inside her. Chelsea kept herself distracted with Jack, finger lining over every wrinkle and crease in his perfect little face, his skin. Her mom was snapping photos on her phone but stopped when the doctor talked over his shoulder to Jordan. "I've got a bleeder here. See—right there. How has blood loss been so far?" Jordan moved around to get a better look between her legs. Under any other circumstances, if she hadn't been so loved up and happy, she would've felt like a zoo exhibit. She continued to worry over Jack instead. The little cupid's bow in his top lip. The short length of his eyelashes. She tuned everything else out. Nothing else mattered beyond that. Beyond her baby.

She ended up having a second degree tear in her vagina that the doctor had to stitch up. Local anaesthetic, gauze packs, sutures. A slight postpartum haemorrhage that they treated with another shot of medication into her thigh. The pain was constant. Never-ending. She guessed she'd just have to get used to it, huh? Her heart wasn't just hers, anymore. It existed outside of her body. She was holding it in her arms. Holding her son. He had her heart, now and forever. That made all the pain and waiting worth it.

Jack started to turn his head, searching. A hunger cue. Her mom helped her get him properly situated across her chest, showed her how to help Jack seek it out for himself. Brought her nipple to his nose so he'd open up his mouth and latch. He fussed, sucked for a while, fussed again. Her milk wasn't in yet, so Jordan expressed her other breast with her hand and scooped the colostrum up with a syringe for a top-up. Chelsea was grateful for the help. Grateful when her mom held her arm in place around Jack, keeping him safe and skin-to-skin while Chelsea fell asleep mid-feed. She didn't mean to. Couldn't keep her heavy, heavy eyes open.

By the time lunch was brought in for her on a tray, she was awake again. Not that she had actually really slept, just kind of rested her eyes. Drooled, a little. Jordan suggested they measure Jack and do his newborn assessment, so Chelsea could shower and get some proper rest. Chelsea didn't want to let him go. Did she have to? Her arms weighed her down trying to hand him over to the midwife, more physically exhausted than she ever had been before in her entire life. Despite this, she tried to move, tried to follow after them to the resuscitaire. Donna came to her aid, supporting her elbow while Chelsea got to her feet. She offered her the hospital gown to cover up. Slid it over her shoulders and tied it in the back for her. Chelsea thanked her mom and slowly padded over to her son.

He cried, shaky and cold even under the heat lamp of the cot. Chelsea's lips stuck out in a pout, running a hand down his chest. "It's okay, sweet boy. You're okay." She hushed him. Jordan went through the newborn examination, checking him from head to toe. Counted each of his fingers (1, 2, 3, 4, 5! 1, 2, 3, 4, 5!), listened to his heart and respiration rate, tested his reflexes. Talked it through in detail with Chelsea and Donna, who was still playing family photographer. While measuring the circumference of his head (13.5 inches!), Jack soiled the blanket on the cot. They all cooed over him, like it was the most adorable thing in the world. Donna retrieved the wipes, a diaper and a tiny onesie from Chelsea's overnight bag. "I got this, I got this." Chelsea insisted, waving her mom and Jordan off. She'd done enough babysitting as a teenager to know how to change a diaper, even if none of those kids had been quite so small or new to the world. Or hers. She gently cleaned up his bottom, lax with how many wipes she used, and they put him on the scales to weigh him.

7.5lb. Chelsea tried not to cry again. Jack did—definitely didn't like being away from her body heat, or the lamp on the resuscitaire. Her mom quickly took some photos of the weight flashing on the scales and they took him back to the warmth and light of the cot. Got his diaper on so he couldn't make more of a mess. Jordan trailed the measuring tape down the length of him next. 20 inches long. Chelsea tickled his tummy, beaming down at him. "That's my little man." Her little man who wasn't so little, but wasn't so big, either. He was so beautiful. Wiggled his fingers in the air like he was waving at her.

His shots were next. An injection in each thigh, and his scream was earsplitting. Chelsea's eyebrows pulled together, tears blurring her vision. A crocodile tear slid down Jack's face. Shit, she felt so guilty. Jordan parted his lips and stuck her gloved finger inside his mouth. His sucking reflex kicked in, and he eventually settled. No more tears, no more kicking out his feet in distress. Chelsea had been holding her breath. Blew out a sigh. It was okay, they were almost done. He'd be back in her arms soon!

She got him dressed for the first time in a grey stripey onesie. It was slightly too big and loose, but he seemed snug. Seemed happy when she cradled him against her chest again. Chelsea rapidly kissed his forehead, his tiny little fists. Donna held her arms out for a cuddle. Chelsea was hesitant again. Ugh, did she have to? She didn't want to share him. Didn't want to let him go again so soon. Jordan reminded her about taking a shower. Said she'd feel brand new afterwards.

It was the best shower she'd had in her life. Up to this point, at least. Jordan was a God-send. Blood that had dried up and caked to her skin was scrubbed off and swirled down the drain, and with it the stench of copper and hospital disappeared; overwhelmed by the coconut and shea butter of her body wash. Even with dead arms, Chelsea managed to run some shampoo through her hair, wash her face with some cleanser. Brushed her teeth. She felt like a human being again. She managed to dry off and get dressed on her own: summer pyjama shorts and a nursing top covered in polka dots. Slippers to avoid the tile and vinyl and germs of the hospital floor. Jordan must've mopped it clean in her absence, she realised, walking back into the room. Starkly white sheets and a new blanket were draped over the hospital bed. God bless that woman, truly.

And God bless her mom: set up in the chair in the corner, Jack asleep peacefully in her arms. "How you feelin', Chels?" Donna asked without looking up, her eyes glued to Jack. Chelsea wasn't even offended—she could relate! Understood completely, immediately pulled into his orbit from the other side of the room and tracing a finger over his cheek.

"I'm in love."

24 and a half hours of labour. And it had been so slow, from literal years of waiting, to sudden. Suddenly it had all been over and he was here. Suddenly he was here and it felt like he always had been. And the hours seemed to pass even faster after that; when she could no longer physically hold him anymore and so she had to, regretfully, set him down in the hospital bassinet. He didn't mind, already a good sleeper—his tiny arms stretched out above his head while she snapped a photo of him on her phone to send out to everybody. Her friends and family and a post on Instagram. Hi, I'm Jack in block letters on a custom sign she'd had made months before. Months. It had been months and years of a journey that had all culminated in this! In her perfect baby.

"Jack Kaiser Heskett," she hummed down at him when her mom left for the evening, and Chelsea only had late night TV to keep them company. The late night shopping advertisements she used to fall asleep to nestled in her father's arms. The flashing screen, mounted on the wall, lit up her expression. Cast shadows across Jack's tiny, sleeping face. "You're technically a Junior. Jack Kaiser Heskett Jr. Yeah. Yeah, that's right. Y'know, I never thought I'd be one of those people." She said, small so as not to disturb him. "Bit of a mouthful, huh?" She felt a little delirious. Completely exhausted. Rambly. She thumbed his chubby cheek. "I named you after him. My dad. I... I loved him so much, so so much, and I love you so much, so so so much, and I know... I know he would've loved you, too." She was too tired to cry again. To cry any more today. "He does. He's probably yelling at me right now, saying I should've picked out a better name, but..." Chelsea chuckled at the thought. "But you look like a Jack to me."

It had almost been 13 years since he passed. August 18, 2004. A date seared into her brain, even over a decade later.

There were only a few days left of summer break when it happened. He'd only been 38 years old. Had a heart attack completely out of nowhere. No symptoms, no signs, no chance to say goodbye. And Chelsea was meant to go off to Charlotte for college three and a half hours away from home. Bachelor of Arts in Architecture. She didn't want to go. Didn't want to have to do anything ever again, after he was gone. Didn't want to have to plan and build homes that he would never be a part of. Didn't want to have the big milestones without him there right there beside her. Graduation, buying her first house, getting married, having children. Experiencing her first heartbreak. Him dying had been that, instead.

It'd been the worst day of her life, hands down.

Today had to have been the best.

Her mom had gotten her through it, back then. Forced her to go to school instead of quitting or deferring for a year. Got her to stay distracted instead of being completely destroyed by her grief. And her mom had gotten her through this, too. It was one thing knowing she wouldn't literally be here without her parents, but another thing entirely knowing she wouldn't've made it through emotionally without them, either. And even if her dad wasn't technically here today, he still was.

She knew he was. He was in the room when her son was born. He had to be. He wasn't just there in name, or the engagement ring her mother still wore on her finger, gripping her hand half the time—but he was there in Jack's face. Only half her genetics, but he was all her dad. And he was all hers. It felt... healing. It felt right. How could her heart not be completely full and fixed and pieced back together when she was staring down at her child? Her healthy, beautiful baby? She had created so many houses and homes for other people before, and now she finally had her own. This was her son. This was what she wished for.

#elliot 33 #elliot #interaction #HAPPY FIRST DAY OF ELLSEAMAS SLUT :elmo:

[chelseaheskett]

#chelsea #misc #GET HER SOME BROWN CONTACTS IM SHAKIGN

[chelseaheskett]

erection

#TESTIGNNGG

[chelseaheskett]

elliotholt​:

Chelsea pulled the box out of his grasp, and he instinctively clasped his hands behind his back, holding still more out of nervousness than submission. She didn’t say anything for a long while, even as he could feel her stare burn into him. The longer the silence stretched, the more negative thoughts crept into his mind; convinced that she would start laughing at him at any second, he shifted his position slightly, now hyper-aware of the carpet underneath his legs. For god’s sake, she’d more than once tied down every one of his limbs and made him beg for her, but a shirt and a glorified necklace made him feel self-conscious. There was always a bit of a mental block when they tried something new, and he needed immediate reassurance or he would feel like he’d done something terribly wrong.

He was an idiot, he should have talked to her before he just went off and did things on his own, he should have —

Chelsea slid her fingers through the ring on the collar and yanked him up fully onto his knees. He coughed, more out of surprise than a lack of air, and stared at her, eyes wide. Braced both hands on the bed on either side of her, fingers curled into the sheets. Oh. He didn’t feel quite so stupid anymore, not when she looked at him like that. Like she wanted to devour him. Flushed under her gaze, he didn’t have anywhere to hide - her grip around his throat left him with nowhere to go. He couldn’t move his head, couldn’t look away, just locked in place by the intensity in her eyes. Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that. Ever. Again. Do you understand me?

Yes. Yes. Whatever she said. Whatever she wanted. He nodded, as enthusiastic as he could manage with her holding him in place. She pulled him again, harder, this time so their mouths crashed together. No soft touching or caresses, but rough and possessive. Claiming him - and he was more than happy to be claimed. His hands moved to her hips, holding onto her for dear life as she took him on the ride. She pushed him away, out of the kiss, with an equal amount of force and her hand never wavered from his neck, steadily making it harder for him to breathe. 

Something was different. Elliot was used to that fire - loved it, craved it - but there was something more to it, now. Chelsea was harder, even more fiery. Like he’d done something - oh. He did kind of call himself stupid, didn’t he? Chelsea couldn’t read his mind, but…couldn’t she? He didn’t need to say things out loud for her to know exactly what was happening inside of his silly little head. She twisted her wrist, tightening the collar, making a point out of it. 

But he was a slow learner. She knew that well enough - he still wore some of the bruises of her latest tutoring session, no better at math than he was a week ago but pleased with his progress regardless. He was stubborn, a bad student, and this was certainly going to take more than one lesson to sink in. His breathing got more labored, shallower, one of her hands at his throat and the other exploring his new shirt. Yeah…the top had been a good idea. He’d have to thank the girl at the store the next time they went - sure, she was probably just trying to upsell him, but it had worked. Chelsea seemed to like it and hadn’t that been the whole point? This was all for her and she didn’t look like she was about to complain. 

Her exploration ceased after a few moments and her hands moved down to the waistband of his briefs, fingers curled around the elastic. Pushed them down to his knees and he had to shift into a sitting position to pull them off the rest of the way. Chelsea watched him, approvingly, as he tossed the underwear somewhere behind his back and sat back on his knees. She gave him an appreciative grin as he kneeled at her feet, now almost completely naked. She leaned forward, meeting him halfway to press their foreheads together. Anticipating a kiss, his eyes slid closed, lips parted, patiently waiting for her to give him a reward. She didn’t kiss him, to his only slight disappointment, her hand making a path down his chest so that she could wrap her fingers around him. Tell me you’re sexy. A sharp, short demand. He knew better than to do anything but give her exactly what she wanted.

“I - I’m sexy.” He wasn’t quite sure if he fully believed it, but with her looking at him like that, making him believe it…he was sure he’d get there. It probably spoke to some deep-seated psychological issues that her utter possessiveness actually made him feel…really good? But…was it truly that bad? To be loved and cared for so deeply that it sparked this kind of passion in her? She was passionate about him and it sometimes, kind of, maybe made him want to be passionate about himself.

She hummed at him, low in her throat, and he responded by batting his eyelashes in turn. Surely his good behavior deserved a reward! A kiss, or at least a good boy. She did neither, instead leaning back on her hands and appraising him with a critical eye. He inadvertently pushed his bottom lip out in a small pout, silently protesting their lack of contact. That wasn’t fair! She wasn’t allowed to be that far away. She mimicked his pout, teasing him, mocking him, then chastised him for his poor counting skills. He bowed his head, looking up at her through his lashes. No matter how good of a tutor she was, his knowledge of math would just never improve - he supposed he would simply need more lessons.

Much to his ever-persistent disappointment, she didn’t offer to continue his tutoring, instead turning her attention to the unwrapped shoebox. Oh, shit. He’d forgotten he’d even given her the gift in the first place. One thing was for sure, at least - he definitely no longer felt like an awkward, uncomfortable idiot. It was hard to feel anything other than…than, well….sexy, when she looked at him like that. Talked to him like that. He held his hands behind his back, sitting as still as he possibly could. Being a good boy, watching and waiting and desperately hoping that she liked the boots. He breathed a literal sigh of relief at her reaction, the tension in his shoulders fading. Oh, good. She liked them! It made him feel sort of warm and fuzzy inside.

It wasn’t quite a good boy, but praise was praise and he would never say no to a couple of thank yous and I love yous. He smiled at her, very genuinely excited that she was excited, practically bouncing with unrestrained glee. Yes, he did do a great job - he may not be able to count, but he could give a good gift, and wasn’t that the most important thing? She demanded to wear the boots, now, and practically vibrating with want, he held his hands out to take the box. “I - may I?”

A good boy always asked for permission! And it was her day, after all, she deserved to call the shots even more than she normally did. She pushed the box at him and leaned back on her elbows, making herself comfortable while she put him to work. He was in his favorite place, under her spell and at her mercy. He set the box on the floor and pulled one of the shoes out, holding it carefully, like a precious gem. Fingers wrapped loosely around her left ankle, he slid her foot into the boot, gathering the length of leather in his hands and adjusted it around her leg. Inch by inch, he pulled the zipper up with a slow, calculated precision. This was a gift for him, actually, and he was going to take his time, draw it out and savor every second of it. The soft purr of the zipper mingled with their heavy breathing and made him start to get lightheaded. Dizzy. A different kind of of dizziness than he normally got when they played like this. Was this how Chelsea always felt? How did she ever get anything done? If he were her, feeling this high and powerful the time, he would have himself constantly tied up and ready for her. Phew. Wouldn’t that be nice.

When he finally pulled the zip up as far as it could go, he trailed both hands up her leg, taking in the soft leather under his fingers, until he reached her even softer skin. Wow. His imagination always paled in comparison to the reality of Chelsea. Nothing could ever, or would ever, hold a candle to her: beautiful, real and his. She was his. How did he get so lucky? What had he done so right in his past to be worthy of spending the rest of his life with her? Fuck, his head was spinning - he was so completely in love with her that it probably bordered on obsession. It was okay - Elliot was more than happy to be obsessed with her. She deserved it. He leaned forward to press his lips to the exposed skin above the top of her new boot. Almost immediately, her hand went into his hair, pulling his head up so that he could look at her. He slowly blinked at her, an innocent smile spread across his face. He had done nothing wrong, ever, in his life. Apparently she agreed, calling him a good boy in that soft, strong voice of hers. Equal parts domination and total adoration.

Fuck. Was it any wonder he was obsessed with her? He hummed, content, leaning into her hand as she scrunched her fingers in his hair. Preoccupied with that pleasurable tingle down his spine and not on his very important task, already forgotten in his haze of praise and the attention on his hair. Chelsea was quick to remind him of his responsibilities, however, her soft touch turning hard, pushing his head down, his brief moment of affection over so that he could turn his full attention back on her. Breathing hard, his eyes practically glazed over and unfocused, he repeated his process with the other boot. He took it even slower this time, partly to draw out the experience and partly because he was so out of his mind that he had a hard time concentrating. The zipper made no noise this time, crawling up its teeth inch by deliberate inch. Was this supposed to be turning him on so much? There was something about being on his knees and serving her, dressing her up so that she felt sexy and powerful that made him feel good, too. He would do fucking anything for her, on his knees or not.

Once both boots were on, he scooted back a little bit to take a look at his handiwork. Yeah, hah, that was going to dominate his fantasies for the rest of his life. What was it he had said before: fantasies were nothing compared to reality? She didn’t need to have her hand around his throat to choke him - the sight of her was enough to take his breath away. God, she was gorgeous. Otherworldly. Ethereal. He was so fucking lucky and so fucking unworthy of her.

“What do you think, baby?” Please call me a good boy again.

Chelsea stretched out a bit, showing off, her legs extended so that he could get a good look at her new boots. Yeah…not to toot his own horn or anything, but this had been a fantastic gift. One of the best ideas he’d ever had, honestly. The tips of his fingers tingled with the urge to touch her, but he kept his hands clasped together behind his back. Like a good boy would. She still hadn’t given him his praise, he noticed. That wasn’t very nice of her.

“I think,” she started, drawing the word out, crossing her legs at her ankles. His gaze snapped back and forth between her face and her legs, his eyes unable to settle anywhere. “I think,” she said a second time, harder, forcing him to lock eyes with her, “that I need to sit on that pretty face of yours.”

Oh. Well, who was Elliot to disagree with her when she had such great ideas? She leaned forward to grasp his chin, her fingers splayed out on his cheek. Caressing his face like she was mapping out exactly what she was going to do with it. He leaned into her touch, only a little crazed and desperate for contact. Her fingers eventually found their way back to the collar, using the metal ring to pull him into another kiss and he was slowly, surely, finding the shopping spree had been well worth a little embarrassment and self-consciousness. This time, she wasn’t rough or aggressive with him, but tender and oh-so-loving in a way that made him even dizzier and more overwhelmed. It wasn’t just the kinky stuff, but how much love and trust and care that poured through with nothing but the touch of her lips.

With nothing but her hands, slowly finding their way into his hair. No pulling or tugging, but gentle fingers combing through, over and over in the way she knew he loved. They didn’t need words, or even sounds, for them to know how the other was feeling, so connected and in sync with each other that they just knew. Hell, Elliot was all but convinced Chelsea could read his mind, she was always able to tell exactly what he was thinking or feeling at any given moment. What exactly she needed to say or do to make him feel warm and happy or get him out of his head. And he couldn’t help himself, he needed to touch her, needed to feel that soft, beautiful skin of hers. His hands settled on her thighs, on the bit of skin that peeked out between the tops of her boots and the bottom of her sleep shirt. He slipped his fingers underneath her shirt, up over the curve of her hips, whimpering into her mouth when he realized she wasn’t wearing her underwear.

This time, she did tug at his hair, more playfully than anything else and finally broke apart from their kiss. He whined, again, as she stood up, off the bed, and started to walk around him. Noo, where was she going? He spun around on his knees, starting to trail after her like a lost puppy. Wherever she was going, he wanted to be with her, right at her side. Always. Instead, she turned, stopping him by placing the sole of her boot flat against his chest. He stilled instantly, holding his breath and waiting for her next move. The pressure of her heel was heavy, intense, as she pushed him back fully onto the floor.

“Don’t move a muscle,” she said, hard and appropriately threatening. A pleasant, familiar buzz settled in his head, and he followed her instructions with barely restrained enthusiasm. This would surely earn him a good boy, right? Please? He was listening so well, being so good. There was no way she could deny him! She sauntered back into the room with the cuffs after an interminable wait, an almost wolfish grin spreading across her face when she saw him, unmoving and exactly where she’d left him.

“Aren’t you a good boy.”

Ah. There it was. It got better and better every time she said it. “Yes, I am,” he practically purred, and she chuckled at him, kneeling over him to straddle his waist. “Thank you for noticing.” 

“Good manners, too.”

Oh, always. Always for her. The pleased grin on her face warmed him down to his toes, totally compliant in her hands as she guided his arms over his head, securing the stiff leather of the cuffs around his wrists. The other end went around the leg of their bedframe, holding him in place. He tugged at his bindings, testing them, and they held strong; Chelsea had learned how to tie a sturdy knot. She watched him with an amused grin, caressing his cheek with her thumb, and on instinct he tried to touch her, hold her, but he had no escape.

“I - may I?”

“You better.” Chelsea quipped, half-hard, half-teasing. Elliot was evidently trying to be on his best good boy behaviour, asking her permission instead of just taking it. But consent was sexy—and Elliot being submissive was sexy. What she wanted was what truly mattered, and it made her hot under the collar of her night shirt. That kind of thought and dedication. She settled back onto the bed, keeping herself propped up with her elbows. Pointed her feet against Elliot’s bare thighs; thick, muscular, hers... So fucking hot that it caught her attention before the sight of his erection did. Chelsea raked her eyes over his body, enjoying the view of him bowed at her feet in only his meshy shirt and collar; metal ring glistening under the overhead lights. Kneeling at her feet like he was about to eat her out (which was never out of the question!), or treating her like royalty. But they’d played that game before. Not today—even if he was playing the part of a Footman, tucking her inside the dominatrix boot with long, lean fingers around her ankle. 

Elliot being the submissive one meant that even when they weren’t role playing some inverted Maid/Prince fantasy, he still ended up serving her. He still ended up in this exact position: down on his knees and doing exactly what she wanted. And fuck, this was exactly what she wanted. The leather was cold and sharp around her legs, slowly tightening around her skin as he zipped the boot up. It was a contrast to the way she was already heavily sweating, her pyjamas taut to her body. God, was she glad she wasn’t wearing underwear, because she was sure they’d be soaked through by now and sticking uncomfortably, too. Chelsea wanted to pop a button on her shirt, get some air on her chest, but she was busy making fists in the blanket. Her eyes were fixed shut in pleasure, her head inadvertently thrown back; the hair in her ponytail sweeping the mattress. His fingers and the zipper crawled up her leg. A snail’s pace. Chelsea’s mouth hung open, light moans escaping with her hard, heavy breathing. Was this meant to be so Goddamn erotic? Then again, everything Elliot did was fucking sexy. 

There was a list there somewhere, but she couldn’t think past the deliberate way he was touching her. Zipping her up. It was funny how something so slight, almost innocent, could so easily affect her and her body. Could stir up that aching between her legs. He didn’t know his own power! There was so much sexual tension in the air that she felt like she was going to implode. Nothing but the sounds of the growl of the zipper on the boots and their harsh breathing, and Chelsea whimpered past another moan. Her toes curled inside the boot, her other foot scrunched up on his thigh until her nails rooted into his skin. Fuck. Why why why was this turning her on so much? 

The boot must’ve been completely done up, because Elliot started to creep his hands over the length of the leather. And she was obsessed with his hands. His fingers. Had been since the very first time she saw him. Had been one of the very first things she’d ever noticed about him: how long they were, how his palm was big enough to cover the entire surface area of her face. Had wondered how it’d feel to have those fingers inside of her... His touch, now, shied over the strip of bare skin between the top of the boot and the hem of her sleep shirt, and it was electric. Her head felt full of nothing but static. When his lips, so soft and tender and hers, ghosted over her thigh in a kiss, Chelsea jolted up. Hips bucking forward, her fingers immediately weaving into his hair like a reflex. Like routine. She tugged, rough, to pull his head up. Get his attention.   

He really didn’t know his own power. Elliot smiled at her with his teeth poking out of his mouth. The kind of smile that people wrote songs about. Good-natured and improperly innocent. A little flutter to his eyelashes, just to drive it home. Fuck, she didn’t need convincing, Elliot! She would burn down the entire world to see that smile. She would go to war for him. And it wasn’t an exaggeration. She’d do anything for him. Do anything to be with him, to be like this for the rest of their lives. He made her so happy and hot and fulfilled. Chelsea carded her fingers affectionately through his hair, hearts in her eyes. “Good boy.” It sounded slightly nasally, because with all the moans falling out of her mouth she could only breathe properly through her nose. That wasn’t an exaggeration, either. It wasn’t performative, just pure instinct. Pure, unrestrained ecstacy. She was so comfortable and safe with Elliot that it just felt natural to be so open and vulnerable. To be as loud as she needed to be. Unblushing and unashamed. 

Fuck, she was wound up tight tonight. So much so that when Elliot didn’t get started on the next boot right away, she had to encourage him to continue by biting her nails into his scalp. Pull at his hair the same way he was pulling her closer and closer to an orgasm. Yeah, she couldn’t take much more of this. In the best way imaginable. Elliot was even slower, somehow, with the second boot. She couldn’t even hear the zipper go—but that could’ve just been her making enough noise to mute out everything else. Could’ve just been her, completely out of her mind. She was trembling under his touch, trying to stay upright with one hand slipping on the bed, the other a fist in his hair. Chelsea planted her shoes into the carpet for leverage, one on either side of Elliot’s body. Spread herself a little wider for some sort of relief. He was kneeling between her open legs and had to re-angle his hands to accommodate her new position, but that wasn’t her problem! 

The zip was finally done up before Chelsea had the chance to come completely undone. Her chest was rising and falling in rapid succession. Jesus Christ, that really shouldn’t’ve been as hot as it was... She shouldn’t’ve been that close to finishing without him barely even touching her... Fuck. Chelsea untangled her fingers from his hair and cupped the underside of her baby bump in an attempt to calm herself down. Even out her breathing. She stretched out her legs to model the dominatrix boots for him. They were a perfect fit! Tight and shiny, accentuating the length of her legs. Her calf muscles were aching from all the previous pent-up tension. Chelsea swung a leg over Elliot’s lap to cross her ankles together. Leaned back on her palms to pose for him some more. Much better. That felt and looked much better.

“What do you think, baby?” Elliot sat back on his knees, his eyes dancing all over her body. He was out of breath, too. There was an earnestness to his expression. Lines by his mouth and his eyes and that dimple in his chin. Chelsea’s breathing accelerated again, just at the sight of him.  

“I think,” she began, false pretenses—not actually able to think about anything beyond that look on his face. Beyond the heat in his eyes, with his gaze bouncing back and forth between her and the boots. “I think,” she repeated, rougher, trying to get his full attention again. Wanting him to hear what she had to say next. Their eyes finally met and Chelsea fanned her fingers out over his cheeks, “... that I need to sit on that pretty face of yours.” Her wedding and engagement rings pressed into his perfect skin. A reminder. She was his and he was hers. What’s yours is mine. And his face was hers for the taking. 

She thumbed the line around his mouth, almost as long and deep as his smile. Her fingers traced over that next, feeling how soft and full his lips were. Like they were made to be kissed. Made to be kissed only by her. He was made for her. God, they were made for each other. Faces and bodies fit perfectly when she leaned in to kiss him. Two perfect puzzle pieces. She used the ring around his collar to draw him in closer, gently lifting him up onto his knees again so they could make-out. Less aggressive than before, but just as passionate. Slower, sure, but Chelsea was still losing all of her breath inside his mouth. Still felt dizzy, still felt her body pulsing with arousal. She lost herself in the kiss, fingers working with a mind of their own and scrunching through his hair. Continously moving like her lips were. 

Elliot’s hands skirted up under her sleep shirt. Chelsea hummed into his mouth, grip unconsciously tightening in his hair. His fingers dented the skin at her hips, searching for the waistband of her panties to, presumably, remove them. Surprise! He moaned into their kiss, their lips never leaving each other. Like he’d only just realised she was ready for him, twofold. Threefold. Yeah, she wasn’t so sure on numbers right now. Her toes were straining in the boots, the ache was persistent in the pit of her stomach. She forced herself to break away from their kiss, rushing to get the air back into her lungs. If he got started on her with his fingers, she wouldn’t be able to stop. Already felt so close to the edge of an orgasm and they’d hardly done anything yet. Chelsea nuzzled against his nose with her own, so he knew not to take it personally, but Elliot whined about it anyway. She giggled, airy and high-pitched, and gave his hair a final teasing tug. 

He followed after her, shuffling around on his knees, when she made way to leave. Chelsea had to stifle another giggle; clamping her teeth over her bottom lip. She stood in front of him, hands perched on her hips, and shook her head, playfully disapproving. It’d be faster if he didn’t come with her to the closet—they always had so many close calls in there! Constantly! And Chelsea was determined to sit on his face. Tie him up just to watch him struggle to reach her, touch her. He had nobody but himself to blame for how power hungry she was! He was the reason she always felt so sexy and powerful, and she was going to capitalise on that as much as possible, thank you. Like now: lifting a leg to press the sole of her dominatrix boot flush against his chest. She was slow about it, of course. Gentle, nudging him down with the pressure of the boot until his back hit the ground. Until he was lying on the floor of their bedroom, holding his breath and waiting to be told to do anything otherwise. “Don’t move a muscle.” She warned, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth. Having too much fun with this, like always. 

She hoped Elliot remembered to breathe. Her sweet, sweet husband. She couldn’t have him passing out before she was done with him! Almost thought about calling out to him from her wardrobe, but was immediately distracted by the sight of her reflection in the mirror. Shit, she looked good? The boots, cut up to her thighs, somehow matched perfectly with her pyjamas. Really pulled the whole outfit together. Yeah, she’d have to keep the sleep shirt on... No matter how much Elliot loved her bare and naked. She pressed a hand to her stomach, pregnant belly still visible, noticeable under the fabric. Good enough for her! And Elliot loved her pregnant body—that had to be some sort of consolation for him. Chelsea released the top button on the shirt, at least. For practical reasons. To help cool herself down. Possibly tease him with some cleavage. Not that he’d be able to see anything when she was sitting on his face, but still. 

She admired herself in the mirror some more. How did Elliot always manage to get her the best presents, huh? It wasn’t fair. Chelsea was meant to be the one who held that title in their house! Hmpft. She guessed he could have that power... since she had the rest of it. That, at least, seemed fair. And she looked good! Felt sexy as all hell. He had that power, too. Made her feel beautiful. Made her feel like the only girl in the entire world. And she didn’t want to look sexy for anybody else. Just him. Nobody else could ever make her feel so special, so seen. Right down to her soul. Chelsea loved him so, so much. This was the fucking good life, right here. No matter what it had taken for the both of them to get here—this was the life that she had always wanted. This is what she’d wished for. Him. This. It already felt like the best birthday she’d ever had, and it hadn’t even actually started yet. 

Their box of sex toys had immeasurably grown over the course of a single year. Chelsea had to rummage through it for a good amount of time to find their set of handcuffs. She twirled them around, happy with herself, and went back out to the bedroom to meet Elliot. He was still conscious, thank God, but hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor. Chelsea beamed, dimples in her cheeks—very delighted with his behaviour. He blinked up at her with long lashes, dazed eyes. “Aren’t you a good boy.” Chelsea sang, thoroughly pleased.  

Elliot settled into his own smile, soaking up all that praise. “Yes, I am.” He replied, matter-of-fact. Chelsea couldn’t help but laugh, genuine and hearty, and positioned herself down against his hips to straddle him. Fuck, she was so in love with him. It made her head spin. She mouthed a “my good boy”, but Elliot kept going. “Thank you for noticing.”

Another laugh, her chin dropping to her chest. What was she going to do with him, huh? Smart ass. She always noticed, thank you very much! She noticed every single little thing about him, actually. But she didn’t want to delay this any longer. Couldn’t, with the way her body was already rocking against his. Screw it, they were just going to have sex on the floor. It was fine, she always kept the carpet clean! And the leg of their bed looked sturdy enough to hold him in place. “Good manners, too.” Chelsea hummed, rewarding the first part of his statement. She momentarily set the handcuffs down on his chest, lifting his huge, heavy arms up above his head. Elliot was like putty in her hands, easily manipulated. Always let her move him around as much as she wanted to. He trusted her completely. She clicked the cuffs over his wrists, one at a time and as tight as possible. The foot of the bed kept him locked in place; chain link of the handcuffs rattling against the metal of the bedframe. Chelsea grinned, satisfied. Thumbed his cheek once he was all set up. Like clockwork, Elliot fought against his restraints. Fought to try and caress her back. “Aww,” she chuckled, almost sarcastic. She could be a smart ass, too. Sucker. “My poor baby.” Her new favourite phrase, as of late! She mocked him with a pout, too. The whole package. Chelsea scrunched up her nose, acting cute, before giving him one last sweet little peck on the mouth. 

“Shit, it’s hot in here.” She sighed, all dramatic and exaggerated. Sat back against his hips and started on the buttons of her night shirt. God, it was so much fun watching him squirm. So much fun watching him struggle, metal knocking against metal. Poor baby was trying so hard to get the job done himself. Buttons were one of his things. Not today! Not right now! Chelsea undid the pyjamas all the way down but kept the shirt on her shoulders. It exposed her cleavage, her lack of underwear. The slight curve of her stomach. Barely covered her breasts, but that was the point! Teasing him half to death was the best part.  

She swung her legs over his torso to turn around. Thought facing away from him, given the bed in her way, was the best way to go about this. And this way he could feel the leather of her boots against the sides of his neck, his face. Feel the buckles digging into his shoulders. Chelsea moved back on her knees to hover over his face. Practically squished his head between her boots and lowered herself down into his mouth. He met her with his tongue, and she had to immediately strain her arm behind her to steady herself on the bars of the bed frame. “Fuck.” She cried, her other hand finding the holes in his mesh shirt for something else to grab onto. His head was hidden under the length of her sleep shirt, but that didn’t matter too much. She couldn’t keep her eyes open. Was practically bouncing against his face, enthusiastic in both noise and movement.

Even without the use of his hands, with his tongue being the only way that he could touch her, Elliot was lapping over her in just the right spot. Knew her so well. Knew exactly what he was doing. She rubbed herself over his nose, then back over his mouth, her hips erratic. So close already. And Elliot was ravenous, using quick flicks of his tongue. She could feel herself drip down his chin. The boots became a moot point, in the end—her legs spread wider and wider for him. Leather burrowing into his shoulders, if anything. Her shoulder felt like it was about to dislocate with the awkward angle of gripping the bed railing. Chelsea relented and released it, joining her other hand on Elliot’s chest. Got her fingers tangled in the mesh of his shirt until—oop! She tore a hole in it. And oop, she didn’t care! Pushed herself back against his face, arching into his mouth. Cursed under the pressure of his tongue.

The force of her orgasm had her collapsing forward, palms scraping the carpet. She used it to her advantage; could fuck his face easier like this. Rode him and rode out the rest of it. Even restrained, Elliot kept up, kinking his neck to adjust to her new position. He knew exactly how to give it to her. Knew her literally inside and out. It made her shrieks louder. Shriller. Even when her body and arms went slack, he knew not to stop. Chelsea relaxed against him, head ducked down on his abdomen, his dick practically brushing up against her cheek. Her hips continued to roll back into him, even after the fact. Elliot was still slowly circling her with his tongue. “Fuck me, you’re so good at that.” She said, ragged, when she could finally find her voice. He acknowledged her with a hum that vibrated inside of her, and it made her shudder. Shook her to her very core. “Fuck, Elliot.” She whimpered, nuzzling her face into his thigh. “Please don’t stop.” A broken plea, completely void of dominance. 

Even when she stopped being bossy, Elliot never stopped being a good boy. Swept his tongue over her, over and over. Didn’t stop. He was still half-blindfolded by her night shirt. Her poor baby. Chelsea reached back to hike her pyjamas up, bunching them up past her hips to give him some breathing room. She didn’t want him to suffocate down there! And it gave them the opportunity to lock eyes, even for a moment. A fleeting, brief moment before Chelsea’s eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, and she cried out again around a smile. Fuck, the look on his face. In his eyes. She wasn’t sure who was enjoying this more, him or her. No, no, definitely her—that feeling building up in her spine again. Dammit, Elliot! No, no, no, she could give it as good as she got it, okay? And there he was, unintentionally pressing into the side of her face. Easy access. Perfect timing. Chelsea swung her ponytail over her shoulder and gingerly wrapped her fingers around him. 

He shifted his knees up, rocking into her hand. The movements of his tongue became... distracted, varying in pressure, but he never gave up! Chelsea lined her own tongue up and down the length of him, slower than the way she was thrusting back into his face. Multi-tasking was hard. She pursed her lips and took him into her mouth. Pumped him with her hand, too. Just to add to the equation. Good thing she loved math, huh? Hah! Math. 69. Chelsea smiled against him, pleased with herself. She could do this! And they found a rhythm with it, like they always did. Fucking each other’s mouths in sync. Her hands full and pulling, his hands bound and pulling. Symmetry. Because they were soulmates. 

#elliot #elliot 32 #interaction #:dogelliot:

[chelseaheskett]

#chelsea #misc #we love the ponytail in this house

[chelseaheskett]

CHELSEA’S BIRTHDAY PRESENTS & OUTFITS 12:02PM, TUESDAY. OCTOBER 20TH, 2020.

#chelsea #elliot 32 #fashion #misc #~

[chelseaheskett]

elliotholt​:

He was allowed to buy things for himself. …Right?

Elliot tried to justify it to himself because that was the only way he could accept it in his head. He’d spent the better part of the day searching for the perfect thing to get Chelsea for her birthday. Sure, he’d finished up her little makeshift studio a couple of days before, but it didn’t feel right if she couldn’t have something to hold and unwrap physically. And all that aside, she deserved to be spoiled. She deserved to be spoiled, and he wanted to be the one to do it. As an essential part of his gift-giving tradition, he picked up another charm for her bracelet: a tiny set of boxing gloves for their Peanut. It seemed fitting - not only was that how he was conceived, but Luca was a fighter, the strongest little guy. Elliot was particularly proud of that one.

But one gift wasn’t enough for his baby! So when he saw two sets of pajamas perfectly side-by-side - one covered with strawberries, the other with conversation hearts of sweet nothings - he couldn’t resist. They were meant to be Chelsea’s, and he was already imagining how much fun he would have unbuttoning them. The strawberries even came with a little eye mask! Perfect for a makeshift blindfold. He fished his phone out of his pocket, composing a semi-coherent text to Chelsea, reminding her how sexy she was and how much he loved her. Yeah. This was perfect. He grabbed them off the rack and tried to get his mind out of the gutter as the cashier carefully folded them into a plastic bag.

Armed with her gifts and a perfect justification for being able to buy something for himself, too, he wandered through the store looking for the men’s section. Chelsea had taken him to get new suits when he’d first joined the firm - good, slightly too expensive suits that had held up to all the wear and tear. His dress shirts, on the other hand, weren’t so lucky. Donna had sewn together holes in the seams enough times that he figured it was probably time to retire them. So, hey, it was a practical need, which was another point in the it’s okay for me to do this column. 

He stopped before a shoe display, admiring a nice pair of dress shoes and wondering how far he could push his luck. Sure, he didn’t need new dress shoes, but they were so pretty, and he could treat himself, right? Yeah. Yeah, he could treat himself this once. He picked them up, pleased and excited to show Chelsea, when something down the aisle caught his attention. He shifted the bags and shoebox into the crook of his elbow and wandered toward the women’s section, his eyes trained on a pair of black boots. Hm. He touched them, a soft, smooth leather under his fingers. He started picking them up, curious if Chelsea would like them. They reminded him of the tall, sharp boots that their sex shop sold.

Oh.

The proverbial lightbulb went off inside his head, and he set the boots down with a new mission in mind. But he did need a work shirt, even if that was the last thing on his mind now. So he grabbed the first folded shirt off the first shelf he saw, paid for his stuff, and made a beeline back to his truck.

They were becoming something of regulars at the shop, Elliot noted with only a bit of embarrassment when the lady behind the counter greeted him with a big smile and a cheerful, “hey, you’re back!” Anywhere else, in any other situation, that would’ve been enough to scare him away…forever, probably. But here, even though his ears got a little hot and red, he didn’t feel bad or nervous. On the contrary, it made him feel exhilarated and a little turned on. He greeted her with a wave and continued on his mission. The boots had their unique display, a table set up in the center of the shop, much taller and a lot kinkier than the ones in the department store. He played with one of the buckles, body thrumming with excitement and anticipation at the thought of Chelsea wearing them. He bent down to search through the boxes to find Chelsea’s size and tucked it protectively under his arm. This was a birthday gift for her, but also kind of for him, too. That was probably a gift faux pas, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn’t mind.

And, hey, since he was already here, he might as well grab something else he’d been thinking about for a while. Maybe wearing a collar veered too much into stray dog territory, but he already knew how much he liked having something around his throat. Chelsea could put it on him, tie it tight enough to cut off his breathing, and still have both hands free to do whatever she wanted. Yeah, he was very much a fan of that, and he was pretty sure he could get Chelsea on board, too. Elliot could be very persuasive with his puppy dog eyes. He found one that looked nice and sturdy, made of thick, black leather a few inches wide. It almost looked like one of his belts, only thinner and with an O-ring on the front of it. He took it off the rack and tried it on, so to speak, and lightly wrapped it around his throat. Hm. He liked that. He was sold.

The woman at the register - Laura, according to the nametag clipped to her shirt - gave an appreciative whistle as she bagged the shoebox. “These are fancy. Special occasion?”

He smiled, a bit small and shy. “My wife’s birthday is tomorrow.”

“Lucky lady.” Oh, Elliot was sure he would be the lucky one in this scenario; he could only imagine the ideas Chelsea could dream up while wearing the boots. The lady gave him a bit of a once-over, seemingly connecting the dots between his purchases and his words. “You’re the sub, hm?”

He didn’t look up from his wallet, cheeks burning with the sinking feeling that he was about to be made fun of. She worked in a sex shop; she had to have seen way worse things than him. “Is something wrong with that?”

“Hell no. As far as I’m concerned, more men should let their woman tie them up,” she said with a laugh, making his cheeks burn even hotter. “I asked because, if you’re really looking to go all out for your wife…” she trailed off, stepped into a space behind the register that he couldn’t see, and came back out with a black mesh shirt on a hanger. He didn’t give it too much thought before he agreed with an enthusiastic nod. 

He did want to go all out for his wife. He wanted to be the best boy for her. “Do you have that in any other colors?”

Okay, maybe he wound up with more boxes than he intended, but this was nothing less than Chelsea deserved. Hell, she deserved even more than this, even as he struggled to carry all his bags and briefcase up the stairs. Jack was the first to greet him at the door, like always, as Elliot lost his grip on everything and dumped it on the floor.

“Oooh. Present for me?” Jack gasped in excitement at all the bags, and he reached for one of them to dig through. But, of course, he had to focus on the bag from the Pleasure Chest - Elliot picked it up and placed it on the side table, out of the small boy’s reach. Yeah. That could only ever end badly.

“Sorry, buddy,” Elliot said to Jack’s pouty face. “These are for Mommy.” And definitely not meant for innocent little eyes. He bent down to pick Jack up and spun him around, wrapped in a tight hug. Jack instantly forgot about all the bags, laughing with an excited squeal. “That was for you.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” God. Look at Elliot’s little man with his good manners. That was Chelsea’s powerful influence if he’d ever seen it. Elliot kissed Jack’s cheek before setting him back down on the floor. Offered him The Bear, who he’d abandoned to search for a new present.

“Why don’t you show Mommy the cool things The Bear can do?” It wouldn’t distract Chelsea for very long, but he only needed enough time to shove all the bags into a dark corner of his closet until he could wrap everything.

He’d underestimated how distracting the mere thought of those boots would be. Knowing they were sitting in his closet, waiting to grace Chelsea’s body, drove him insane. More than once, Chelsea had to snap him out of his head and get him to focus on the kids or something she’d said or the chicken he had burnt to a crisp on the stove. Fuck, was he really that hopeless? That depraved? 

Yes. Yes, he was. And he couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Couldn’t sit through the time it would take to wrap it, then try to get to sleep, then wait for her to unwrap it. He couldn’t do it; he just wasn’t strong enough. Call it an early birthday gift - he was only a few hours off, anyway, but it was too long for him if he didn’t want to go completely insane.

He’d never rushed through bedtime so quickly before. Admittedly, this wasn’t his best story time, sitting cross-legged on the floor in Jack’s room and trying to get through every page of The Very Hungry Caterpillar in one breath. This only made Jack pout and sit up in his bed, declaring that it wasn’t good and that Elliot had to do it all over again. And again. And a fourth time until Jack was finally satisfied and asleep, and that caterpillar wasn’t the only thing starving to death. Elliot ensured Jack was properly tucked in and promised a much better story the next night. He was pretty sure he would return to normal once these goddamn boots were out of his system.

Vanessa was next, already half-tucked into her bed by the time he’d had The Very Hungry Caterpillar permanently seared into his brain. The easy out he expected was immediately dashed by his cute tadpole cutely asking for some water, please. Elliot tempered his emotions, forced a smile, and said of course! before trudging down the steps to fill her sippy cup with water. She took one sip before her face screwed up in a little grimace.

“No, Daddy! Better water!”

Better water. Hah. Okay. Sure. Elliot was fine. Back downstairs he went, chugging the terrible sink water himself so it wouldn’t go to waste. Chelsea was still in the kitchen, waiting on the bottle warmer, and she shot him a curious look as he slammed the cup onto the counter.

“The water wasn’t good enough,” he said, answering her expression as he retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge. Fuck, he was so dizzy. Was this what going insane felt like? He was probably going insane. He braced his hand on the counter and refilled Vanessa’s cup, letting his mind wander. He knew his fantasies could never compare with the real thing, with the real Chelsea and how incredible she would look, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t dream. He liked to have a solid image in mind for reality to exceed. Phew. If just his imagination was doing this to him, he didn’t know how he would survive reality.

By the time he had snapped out of the fantasy, the water bottle was empty, and he was standing in a small puddle of cold water. Oh, shit. The counter was soaked, water dripping off the edges onto the floor and his feet. He looked around, but Chelsea was gone by this point. Yeah, better she didn’t see this mess. He mopped it up the best he could with a dish towel and went back upstairs before he caused any more damage.

The bottled water passed Vanessa’s incredibly high standards this time. Thank god.

It took what felt like hours for everyone to get settled in bed, and he had never felt the pain of having so many damn kids more than he did right now. Chelsea seemed to pick up on his tension, asking if he was okay while he aggressively scrubbed his toothbrush like he was trying to remove all the enamel from his teeth. He smiled at her after rinsing all the toothpaste out of his mouth. Oh, he was so glad she asked.

“I want to give you one of your presents now. Is that okay?” Her eyes lit up with the kind of interest that made his pulse race. He knew her too well; she could never say no to a gift. “Give me a few minutes? I have to get ready.”

He guided Chelsea to sit on the edge of the bed, facing the door of his closet so he could make a grand entrance. It seemed like a lot of fanfare for what was nothing more than a pair of shoes, but he had to set the scene. Get into the right mindset, into his role. It just seemed like the appropriate way to do things. 

The top was easy enough; after he had managed to rip the tag off, he settled on the black one, the same color as his pajama pants. Then, feeling a little weird about wearing cartoon dogs while he was about to put a fucking collar on himself, he pulled his pajamas off, leaving him in his briefs. Sorry, Scooby. His brain just wasn’t a fan of those implications. All the confidence he’d had while making the purchase was gone now, and he felt a bit like a fool as he stared at the collar in his hands. He almost completely chickened out before the tiny, positive voice at the back of his mind told him you can do this. Told him that Chelsea wouldn’t laugh at him, even if he looked like an idiot and probably deserved to be laughed at. He looped the collar around his neck and buckled it shut before he could talk himself out of it. It fit snugly but not too tight. Comfortable, with the inside of the leather lined with some fuzzy material, much like their restraints. Soft but unyielding. He held the shoebox to his chest like a shield and stepped back out into their bedroom.

He stopped before Chelsea, then dropped to his knees, eyes cast down to the floor while he tried to find that courage again. “I - I went to the Pleasure Chest,” he said, stating the obvious. He touched the ring at the front of his throat. “If you think I look silly, I’m - I’ll take it off, but…” Elliot trailed off, not sure how to finish that thought. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he was so self-conscious about it. Instead, he held the box out for her to take. “I hope you like them.”

12:02PM, TUESDAY. OCTOBER 20TH, 2020.

“Can I get you to confirm your name and date of birth for me, please?” The nurse asked, holding an empty blood vial up to her face; eyes scanning over the details on the identification label.

“Chelsea Grace Holt. October 21st, 1986.” 

The nurse nodded in recognition. In time to her words. Her expression lit up, excited, over the date. “Aww, it’s your birthday tomorrow!” The woman beamed, clipping the tourniquet tight around Chelsea’s forearm. Latex gloves tentatively touching her skin. “Happy early birthday!” 

Chelsea couldn’t help but smile back. “Thank you.” 

She was turning thirty-four tomorrow. It was... weird? So much had happened over the last year. Between this birthday and last. Getting her first tattoo. Getting her second tattoo. Finding out that Elliot somehow had not one but two brothers. If Christian could even be called that. Julian, definitely, but not Christian. He was more like her Mom’s (disgusting) boyfriend—and that’d only happened since her last birthday, too. Yuck. They’d moved houses. Elliot had joined a baseball team with her cousins—they hadn’t played their first game yet, but still! She’d discovered that she loved taking photos, and decided that’s what she wanted to do moving forward. 

Luca had been born... and everything that came after that. That came with that happening early. 

God, she almost hadn’t made it to thirty-four in the first place.

The list-making stayed the same, at least. And now here she was, pregnant again. Had been pregnant on her birthday last year, too. Though that day had her ending up in hospital with a boxer’s fracture. A plastered arm and a sling to match Elliot’s broken shoulder blade. She hoped they wouldn’t repeat that this year, please. Hoped tomorrow would be better than that. That she could get through an entire day and celebration without any sort of trauma. 

It was haunting her a little today. Her birthday, having to be at the clinic to do this test. It was triggering! And it made sense why, but she hated having to sit with it. Especially when she was going to be stuck sitting here for hours on end with nothing else but her own thoughts to keep her company. No babies to look after, no Elliot to keep her happy and supported. And fasting for the test meant that she was starving. Being hungry made her more sensitive, she knew that—especially pregnant. 

The scratch of the needle going under her skin pulled her out of her head. Blood drew back, filling the test tube. Once she’d collected enough, the nurse popped the tourniquet and it relaxed around Chelsea’s arm. She swabbed the injection site with a cotton ball and taped it down to keep pressure. “Okay, now I’ll just have you wait here for a few minutes. Do you remember what comes next?” The woman grimaced out of sympathy, depositing the test tube into a plastic bag. Snapped her gloves off and tossed them in the trash. 

“Yes. Unfortunately.” Chelsea laughed through an exasperated sigh. “I think this is like... the fifth time I’ve had to do this test.” The joys of pregnancy. And it wasn’t going to be the last time, either! Her gestational diabetes with Luca meant risk factors, meant getting tested early—which meant she’d have to do this all over again at 28 weeks, no matter what the results were of today’s test. It meant another 12 weeks of having to worry and stress about it. For once, numbers weren’t a comfort. The nurse asked her anyway.

“How far along are you? This is your early OGTT, right?” She asked, pulling the bottle of glucose out of the mini-fridge and shaking it. 

15 weeks and 4 days along, according to the pregnancy tracking app on her phone. Chelsea nodded. “15 plus 4 today.” She replied. 

“That’s so exciting! Congratulations.” The nurse’s smile was genuine, at least. “Do you know what you’re having?” The usual small talk.

“A girl.” Chelsea matched her grin. That’s what this was all about, right? Her Sunflower. Making sure that she was safe and healthy. Making sure Chelsea wasn’t going to fuck her up the same way that she’d fucked up Luca. He’d been fitted and prescribed little baby glasses last week. They’d picked up on it from the constant eye rubbing, the light sensitivity. The way he had to always turn his head to look at things. Her smile quickly faltered, remembering. Maybe that’s why she’d been feeling so fragile today. The guilt and fear was overwhelming. About Luca, about their little Sunflower—name still TBD. About getting to the point where they could even give her a name. 

She was starting to spiral. Chelsea was glad when the nurse finally handed her the bottle of glucose to drink. She deserved the punishment. The drink was sweet. Too sweet. Orange in look and flavour. On an empty stomach, it made her nauseous. Her morning sickness had stopped being a thing a couple of weeks ago, but this seemed to bring it back. Of course. After downing the drink, she got settled in the waiting room again. Had to wait an hour before her next blood test, then another hour after that. God. She was hungry and nauseous and feeling terrible in every which way possible. She pulled a paperback book out of her purse, and her phone buzzed in one of the pockets. A text message from Elliot lit up the screen. Lit up her face.

It was like he knew. Like he could feel that she was beating herself up and feeling horrible, even miles apart. Either that, or his timing was impeccable. They were soulmates, though, and moments like this were just further proof of that fact. And that reminder made her feel good. Knowing that he was probably just sitting at his desk at work and was thinking about her? Or he was busy at the office, or in court, but still had her on his mind? It made her heart ache in the best sort of way imaginable. Made her chest all warm and tingly. Made her happy. He made her so, so happy. She blinked a wave of oncoming tears away and tapped out a reply to him.

They randomly messaged all the time throughout the day. Mostly I love yous and I miss yous, because they were absolute saps. Their emojis matched, majority of the time. They had their favourites! Anything affectionate or suggestive. And it was always a pick-me-up. Like she’d said: he always made everything better. It was enough to get her through the next couple of hours at the clinic. Gave her enough mental space to focus on her book to pass the time. Whenever her mind wandered, after that, it was only to think about Elliot. Wonder what he had planned for her birthday tomorrow, wonder what they were going to do tonight. The time of the test still dragged, don’t get her wrong, but it was bearable. And it was only bearable because of him. 

Chelsea had planned it out perfectly so that by the time the test was over, Jenny was almost finished with her school day. Seeing Jenny made everything better, too. Talking with her at a million miles a minute always lifted Chelsea’s mood. It was like talking in their own language, it was so fast-paced. They stopped at the McDonald’s drive-thru on the way home, because Chelsea still hadn’t eaten yet. They gorged themselves on fast food in the parking lot, and then as soon as they walked through the front door, the twins insisted on making cupcakes for their afternoon snack. Oh well, she’d already taken the glucose tolerance test, right? One or two days of eating poorly couldn’t hurt... right? It was almost her birthday! It was fine.

Somewhere around five o’clock, Elliot sent her another random message. They were all set up at the coffee table doing crafts. Chelsea sat cross-legged on the floor with her babies. Jenny took up all the space on the couch, stretched out and doing her homework. Licking the icing clean off her second cupcake. Donna had already left for the day, with the promise of being back early morning for Chicky’s birthday. The TV was blasting with kids cartoons, and there was junk and toys everywhere. Jack and Vanessa and Isaac were scribbling and painting and gluing. Respectively. Luca was in her lap, trying to shove plastic shapes into the correct box holes. He’d gotten better at it since wearing his glasses, thank God. Chelsea combed her fingers through his tuft of hair, getting longer like Daddy’s, and pulled out her phone.

She’d been expecting an on my way home text. Chelsea’s heart raced. She broke out into a grin and hid it in Luca’s hair, a blush creeping up her neck. Luca tried to reach for her phone, because the pop socket was more fun to play with than his blocks, apparently. Trying to juggle him and her phone while simultaneously keeping an eye on the gaggle of their other children made it hard to type out a reply. “Here, Peanut, let’s take a photo for Daddy, huh? Then you can have it, I promise.” Even with his bad eyesight, and his wheezy breathing, he was a smart boy. Her smart little Peanut. He knew who Daddy was! Chelsea held her phone out to take a selfie. Pouted her lips out in a kiss for Elliot, and Luca slightly tilted his head to the side and smiled. She’d already trained him so, so well. Like father like son! Chelsea pecked him on the head. Sent the photo through to Elliot and let Luca take control of her phone, as promised.

Speaking of training. The kids had gotten so good at cleaning up after themselves! When crafts got boring, Chelsea pinned the finished products on the door of the refrigerator and her babies helped her put everything back in their rightful places and containers. Packed some of their toys away before they grabbed new ones to play with. They were so good like that. It made her heart swell. Her sweet babies. Chelsea let them enjoy themselves, keeping a watchful eye on them from over the kitchen island. Had finally gotten around to cleaning up the mess from the cupcakes when she could hear the front door open. Jack had a new strategy, nowadays: he ran to the foyer as soon as the Ring notification on her phone chimed. His indicator that Daddy had pulled up the driveway in his truck and was home from work. 

There was some sort of commotion, like Elliot had dropped his briefcase on the floor, followed by the sound of Jack’s high pitched laughter. Chelsea smiled to herself, scrubbing the mixing bowl with soapy water in the sink. The tension of the day dropped from her shoulders. There her heart went, pounding in her chest again! Her baby was home! She let Jack have his moment with Elliot and kept cleaning the dishes. Tried to hurry it up, a little, so she could be done and freely spend the rest of her afternoon with Elliot and their family. 

“Mommy!” Jack was suddenly by her side, waving The Bear around. “Look! He’s so cool!” He babbled, baby teeth poking out of his wide smile. Chelsea dried her hands on the dish towel over her shoulder and bent down to meet Jack at eye-level. They played around for a bit, Chelsea fluffing the teddy’s fur, dancing him around, talking to Jack in The Bear’s voice. It had to be a ploy of some sort, a distraction of some kind, because by the time she stood back up straight, Elliot emerged from the hallway off their bedroom without his suit jacket or briefcase. Suspicious. “Excuse me, where’s my hello?” Chelsea whined, tongue-in-cheek. After greeting Jack at the front door, that was usually the first thing Elliot did when he got home. Chelsea wanted her kisses, please and thank you. Even more suspicious was the hair ruffle he gave Jack in passing, and the way Jack immediately ran off after the fact. Hmm. Chelsea didn’t get the chance to think on it again, because her hello came in the form of a peck. On the cheek. Now it wasn’t suspicious—it was just downright strange.

As the night progressed, things just kept getting weirder with Elliot. He seemed... out of it? Burnt dinner, which earned him a wow, Dad, you suck from Jenny. Only half-acknowledged the things she was saying, which was unusual for him. Seemed zoned out whenever he was tending to the kids. Maybe she was just being sensitive. It’d been a long day. She offered to be the one to get Isaac and Luca to sleep when bedtime came around, since they always seemed to be the hardest two to get down for the night. Give him the easier option with Jack and Vanessa. She’d probe him about whatever was going on later, when they were alone and in bed. Maybe he’d had a bad day at the office, or was thinking about one of his cases or something. She tried her best, in her hormonal-triggered state, not to jump to conclusions. Communication, and all that. 

Somehow, Chelsea made it back to the bedroom before Elliot did. Luca downed his bedtime bottle fast and conked out shortly after. Isaac was harder, of course, but still easier than usual. Chelsea had made it through her moisturising routine, brushed her teeth and fixed her hair up into a loose ponytail before she saw Elliot again. He was still acting strange. Militantly cleaned his teeth the same sort of way she’d furiously clean a surface whenever she got stressed. Chelsea licked her lips, wondering how to broach the subject. She was unmaking the bed, throwing their array of pillows and cushions onto the carpet, and watched him through the open ensuite door. His Scooby Doo pyjama pants hung dangerously low around his hips. She wasn’t gonna think about that, though.    

“Are you okay, hon?” Chelsea asked, dropping the last pillow onto the floor. Thought that maybe she’d done something. That he was upset with her for some reason. That he hated her. But no. No, he’d done something. Smiled at her, almost mischievous, and she released the breath she didn’t even realise she’d been holding in. I want to give you one of your presents now. She grinned around a gasp, mouth fixed open in delight. Presents! She loved presents. Was that even a question that he needed to ask her? Is that okay? Chelsea nodded, a little too fast and eager. Linked her fingers together and held her hands up to her face, excited. “I thought there was something wrong! You scared me!” She playfully whacked him in the chest with the back of her palm, meeting him halfway between the bathroom and their bed.

Context was everything, huh? He had to get ready, and suddenly it all made sense why he’d been so detached and distracted all afternoon. His brain power had been spent up trying to stave off an erection for hours. Her silly, horny husband. Was it another role playing outfit? Ooh. Chelsea didn’t get the chance to guess, at least out loud, before Elliot had his huge hands on her shoulders and was guiding her toward their bed. She had to sit and wait and give him a few minutes. Chelsea bounced on the edge of the mattress like a kid hopped up on sugar, she was so excited. She was sure that whatever present was awaiting her would be sweeter than that, though. 

He had to get ready, huh? Wow. Somehow, Chelsea already was. To the surprise of nobody! Hey, she could get ready, too. Lifted her hips up off the bed to pull her pair of panties down her legs. Tossed them vaguely in the direction of the hamper, close to the closet door Elliot had disappeared behind. It didn’t reach, of course, and landed, balled up and wet, on the carpet. Oh well. Karma for keeping her out of the loop all afternoon, Elliot! Her pyjamas were a black, button-up night shirt. She’d let him have the honours, despite his bad behaviour. He had a thing for buttons. And a thing for making her wait, apparently. Could he hurry up? Exasperated, Chelsea dropped down onto the bed. Stroked her baby belly, over and over. Counted in time to the ceiling fan cycle. 

As soon as she heard the closet door click open, she scrambled back up to a sitting position so fast. So fast that her head spun. Her vision blurred. Or maybe that was just the fucking sight of him. She didn’t even know where to start. Her eyes were wide and trailing all over his body. Didn’t know where to settle, didn’t know what to focus on first. Yeah, she felt dizzy. Used her weak, weak arms to prop herself up into a straighter position. Leaned forward, on instinct, as he shuffled on over to her. Fuck, she needed to touch him. She needed to absolute devour him. Holy shit. The whole day, month, year faded away, and there was nothing else but this. This moment. Him. Elliot. 

I went to the Pleasure Chest, he said. Stumbled over it. Yeah, no fucking kidding. Elliot kneeled at her feet, eyes cast down. Fingers ghosting over his throat, where a leather collar was strapped around his neck. And as if that wasn’t already enough, it had a shiny, sturdy-looking metal ring fixed to the front of it. Chelsea’s throat felt dry, even if the rest of her body was wet. Sweating. God, and if that wasn’t enough! He was wearing a black meshy tank top that let her see everything. All of him. His nipples poking through the material, the lines of his abs, the veins bulging out of the muscles in his arms. And to finish it all off, he’d stripped down to his briefs, covered in illustrations of Paul Smith bunny rabbits. And it was just so him, and so kinky, that she must’ve been right before. He did hate her. Yeah. Yeah, she wasn’t making it to thirty-four. Nope. After this? Not happening.

Elliot offered her an unwrapped box, refusing to look up at her from his spot on the floor. If you think I look silly, I’m - I’ll take it off, but… He was small and... insecure? Not small and submissive, like he normally would be, but genuinely self-conscious. Chelsea gawked at him, incredulous. Could he not see what she saw right now?! Chelsea took the shoebox out of Elliot’s hands and set it aside on the mattress, because he was the best gift she could ever get or have. Ever. Couldn’t he see that!? A passionate sort of fire burned in the pit of her stomach. Was he joking?! This was red bow levels of... Chelsea didn’t even get to finish that trail of thought, anger and dominance quick to bubble over. She closed her fingers around the ring on his collar and yanked. Yanked him up onto his knees, so their faces were only a breath apart. With her grip tight around his collar, Chelsea forced his chin up to meet the heat in her gaze. “Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that. Ever. Again. Do you understand me?” Practically spat at him, she was so turned on and absolutely fuming. The spit didn’t matter so much, in the end—she pulled him into a hard kiss and let her tongue do more of the talking. 

He tasted like toothpaste. Spearmint. Chelsea eventually broke off their kiss, because Elliot wouldn’t dare to be the one to do it first, but kept her grip around his collar. Her free hand travelled down his torso, feeling how far she could stretch the mesh holes in his tank top. She didn’t want to ruin his brand new shirt! But she wanted to test it out. Wanted to pull on his nipples next, because he’d actually personally offended her so much with his own self-doubt that it wasn’t funny. His inner critic was loud, sure, but Chelsea could be louder. Harder. Maybe this was her golden opportunity to make him be kinder to himself, huh? Through sex and dominance. It was worth a shot! She felt drunk on power and arousal, and she was going to get her way. Guaranteed. “I think...” She emphasised, because her thoughts and feelings were the only ones that mattered here. Not his, not that mean voice at the back of his head, but hers. “That you are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Chelsea released her hold on his collar so she could get her fingers under the waistband of his briefs. She loved the bunnies, she really did! But his new shirt showed off his entire torso, and she wanted the matching experience with the bottom half of his body. She got them down to his knees and Elliot did rest of the work. Flung them over his shoulder to join her abandoned pair of panties somewhere on the floor. Chelsea tightened her fingers around him and pulled. “Tell me you’re sexy.” She demanded, voice breathy and pressed up against his face. Forehead to forehead. The threat was there, behind her words. Say it and mean it and be genuine, or there’s going to be big trouble. Chelsea never got far enough in her mind, or in practice, to know what big trouble entailed, but that wasn’t the point. 

“I - I’m sexy.” Elliot rasped, compliant.

“Hm.” She muffled a moan with her bottom lip between her teeth. Bit down the urge to call him a good boy. For now, at least. She stopped pumping him with her hand, too, because that felt like a reward, somehow. Not allowed right now! Chelsea leaned back with her fists dug into the mattress, keeping herself upright. Tilted her head at him with raised eyebrows. “Your counting’s off, by the way.” He had learned nothing from her math tutoring sessions. Nothing! It was unacceptable! “This is more than one present.” Calling back to his earlier words, only wanting to give her one of her birthday presents early. Did the collar and the mesh top and him as a whole not count? That was just bad mathematics. She thought she’d taught him better than that.

And then there was her other gift, almost forgotten about next to her on the bed. Chelsea moved the present into her lap. “Ooh, what is it?” She sung, softening completely. Bouncing happily on the bed again. She was leaving him high and dry and wanting more, probably. Oh well! Elliot stayed kneeling on the floor, hard, while she lifted the lid off the shoebox. 

“Oh my God, baby... they’re gorgeous.” Chelsea’s mouth gaped open, pulling a thigh-high, black leather boot out of the box. She held it up in the air and it dropped down to its full length. The heel, steep and sharp, almost hit Elliot square in the face. Oops. She quickly manoeuvred it out of the way before that happened. Lucky/unlucky for him. Chelsea had a sneaking suspicion he’d enjoy that a little too much. She tossed the box aside to lay both boots out across her lap. 

The leather was bright and shiny. The shoes had laces down the entire length—aesthetics, she supposed, because there was a zipper on the side, too. Easier access, maybe. Each boot had three buckles, and it was just so fitting. Three hits with a belt in his office, in this room, gripping the railing on the foot of the bed, and he was done for. And Elliot knew how much she loved numbers! Knew how much that first day in his office, all those months ago, had meant to her. Had meant to them. And it was like her list from earlier on in the day, only better. Only something positive! Taking his picture, over and over. Falling in love with it and falling in love with him even more than she already did. Lacking in confidence with the belt at first, but then finding her rhythm and her power and... God. The amount of good that had come from that day and that experience. And she wasn’t just talking about sex, either! It was intimacy and trust and love. Look where they were now. Look at how far they’d come in a year. How much they’d grown together and separately. How much more she’d fallen in love with him, every single day, even if she didn’t think it was possible for that to happen.

It was Chelsea’s turn to get quiet. She quickly dabbed her eye with the pad of her finger. Scrunched up her nose, because it felt heavy and full and no, no, no. She was not going to cry over a pair of dominatrix boots. Nope. Pregnancy hormones and love for her husband be damned. She rapidly blinked back the tears and hugged the boots close to her chest. Glanced down at Elliot and tried not to let her face crumble. “Thank you. I love them. I love you.” Her voice was rough, holding back her tears. Who was the one who looked silly now, huh? God, they were both just so stupid and perfectly matched. Chelsea sniffled, flitting her gaze across his face. “They’re perfect.” Yeah. She wasn’t just talking about the boots. Elliot was perfect, and he was hers.

The fact that he’d been to the Pleasure Chest all on his own for the first time also made her want to cry, because she was so fucking proud of him! But no! No more! Elliot going to their designated sex shop all on his own to get presents specifically for her was sexy! He was so fucking sexy. He’d even said so himself! Chelsea nibbled on her lip, the arousal quick to stir deep inside her body again. “Can...” Can I try them on? She wanted to ask. Stopped herself after a single syllable. She didn’t need his permission. This was her present, her bedroom, her birthday. She could do whatever she wanted. As if this hadn’t been his plan to begin with, anyway; if his own kinky outfit was any indication of his motives. Chelsea brought it back around to dominant real fast. Call it mood swings, call it her personality. Whatever. She didn’t care. “I wanna wear these. Now.” She just cared about getting what she wanted, and for Elliot to be the one to give it to her.

#elliot #elliot 32 #interaction #me pretending its 2017: DO NOT MATCH LENGTH 🙅‍♀️

[chelseaheskett]

MACY AND AMY’S COSTUME PARTY

Macy as a Flapper Girl, Caleb as a Chef, Amy as Harley Quinn from Suicide Squad, Lola as Ariel from The Little Mermaid, Julian as a Prince, Santiago as Gaston from Beauty and the Beast, Rafael & Jane as Riff Raff & Magenta from The Rocky Horror Picture Show

#elliot 31 #misc #fashion #cbf tagging everyone xoxo #~

[chelseaheskett]

THE NOVO LOUNGE 800 W. Olympic Blvd. Los Angeles, CA

The VIP Lounge is a distinctive and desirable event space within The Novo, offering an upscale L.A. ambiance, eye-catching décor, custom design, a high level of service, and exciting energy for corporate or private events.

#elliot 31 #misc #setting #~

[chelseaheskett]

elliotholt​:

Tell me about it, stud. Oh, man. He clasped both hands over his chest, dramatically falling backwards onto the bed. She knew how to kill a guy, didn’t she? Be still, his heart. He propped himself onto his elbows, entirely unable to tear his eyes off her. Like he would never get enough of her. Could never get enough of her. How was Chelsea real, and how was she his wife? He sat up and circled his arms around her waist while she dropped hers around his shoulders. Comfortable. Familiar. One of her hands brushed his hair back, out of his face, and he tilted his head back, so she had as much access as possible. Hmm. She scratched his scalp to get his attention.

“So, what did you do while I was gone?” Asked with all the determination and confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. He batted his eyes at her. He only did very good things, like a very good boy.

“Myself,” he said, just as innocent as ever, so very proud of himself. He grinned at her, and she laughed in response, scrunching his hair between her fingers. God. He loved that laugh of hers. She would good-naturedly tease him and make sure he knew exactly how much control she had over him. As if he could ever forget. As if he ever wanted to. Some hair fell back over his eyes, and she fixed it, carefully pushing the strands behind his ears so that they would stay put. Admiring her handiwork. She deserved to be proud, to touch and play with it all she wanted. It might’ve been his hair, but it was hers. She dragged her nails down his neck, and he shivered under the sensation, a pleasant tingling following the path of her fingers. She inspected his shirt, which was a little dirty and stained. Oops. He batted his eyelashes at her again. Wasn’t he such a good boy? He thought so.

“I hope you can still fuck me in this cheerleading uniform.”

Ha. Was that even a question? Did it need to be asked? She asked it like she wasn’t his fantasy come to life, like he hadn’t gotten off to this just a couple of hours ago. Please. She had to give him more credit than that! He would fuck her right now if she wanted. He linked his fingers through hers and drew her hand to the still open fly on his jeans.

“Does that answer your question?” He asked, his voice a little high and a little excited. She stroked over the bulge in his denim like she was studying it. Inspecting it, channeling her inner Nurse Chelsea, examining the cause of the swelling. She was the cause, always, every single time. She knew the kind of power she had over him and regularly exercised that power. And he loved every second.

Chelsea climbed into his lap, and her skirt hiked high on her legs. Elliot helped it up the rest of the way, his hands under the fabric so he could hold onto her hips. Keep her tight in his lap, the delightful pressure between his legs. She cupped his cheek, and he nuzzled into it like a cat looking for pets. God. He loved it when she would touch him, hold him. And it wasn’t even sexual (most of the time)! He craved affection and closeness; when she would touch his face, hold his hand, play with his hair. He liked feeling loved, wanted. Liked feeling the softness and the closeness.

He also liked when she had her hands on him, her other hand sneaking its way between their bodies. Yeah. He really liked that. Remember all those times you told me you wouldn’t be able to get it up? He had to bite back a moan, nodding his head to agree, even if he only half understood what he actually agreed to. All he knew was that she was right, always right, and he would tell her that every day if that’s what she wanted.

Those words did the same thing to Chelsea that good boy did to Elliot. Gave him that proud and warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. To know he’d done so well to get that praise from her. He was a good boy and she was always right, and, fuck, he loved the way that felt. She must’ve felt the same way. They always did; they were so in sync - pulling him into a kiss hard enough for him to feel it in his bones. Exactly the way he liked it, so that he could never forget he belonged to her entirely. Kissed him hard enough to make him dizzy and make stars spin behind his eyelids. His fingers slipped under the waistband of her underwear, all smooth and lacey. God. He loved her lingerie, but it would look so much nicer on the floor. He tried to ease them down her legs, get them off, but after an inch, they wouldn’t budge. He groaned, frustrated, trying a couple more times before finally relenting. Fine. She could keep her underwear.

He didn’t get to keep his shirt, however. He was happy to make the sacrifice. She pulled on the hem, and almost unconsciously, he lifted his arms over his head, giving her plenty of room to get rid of the offending clothing. She took her time with it, fingers exploring his chest and stomach, touching anywhere she could reach. The shirt got stuck around his shoulders, and he had to pull away from the kiss with a harsh whine. His shirt was gone before he could blink once, and Chelsea had him down before he could blink twice. Fuck. His head was swimming, desperate for her to take the rest of his breath away. She braced her hands against his chest and he held onto her wrists, needing as much of her as he could take. He offered his best puppy eyes and tapped his lips with a single finger, hoping to get her to kiss him again. She copied his pout, teasing him, grabbing and holding his chin. Could practically hear the oh, you poor thing dripping in that sickly sweet sarcasm of hers. He squirmed underneath her, his arms automatically moving to rest above his head. Offering himself up for her taking.

“Tell me what you were thinking about when you… when you took care of yourself.”

She knew. Had that fire behind her eyes that never failed to turn him into putty. That made him want - no, need - to give her anything she said. The kind of look that demanded his attention and obedience. And he could do nothing but give it to her.

“Being your good boy.” Hell, that was all he thought about anymore. About how to be on his best behavior. Use his good manners. Do things to make her proud, make her happy. Anything to get a little bit of praise and to see that pleased, excited smile on her face. Making her feel good made him feel good. Feel all warm and slightly tingly. Fuck, it felt so good to make her happy. She kissed him again, and he arched his back into her, searching for friction. Searching for contact. She pulled back just long enough to call him a good boy. He whined. Yes. Fuck yes, he was a good boy. He tangled his fingers in her hair for another desperate kiss, every cell in his body starving for her. He was confident he could spend the rest of his life with her tongue in his mouth, and it still wouldn’t be enough. It could never be enough. She was his favorite addiction, and he would happily get lost in her forever. Then his fingers hit something distinctly silky and rather not hair-like. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her, looking at the fabric in his hands. Bright red, standing out stark against his light skin.

Oh.

“Bow… Red bow…” He said, a bit stupidly, unable to form coherent thoughts beyond red bow. She was wearing a red bow. He tugged it a little looser, almost in a trance. Red bow. Red. Bow. It’s all for you, baby. Holy shit. He wrapped the ribbon around his hand to yank her back down to his mouth, a small, dominant fire burning in his chest. An unusual but not unwelcome feeling. She rolled her hips down into his and, only a little out of his mind, he immediately grabbed the hem of her top to pull it over her head. He had his every fantasy in front of him, on top of him, and he wasn’t about to let something distract him.

Including his phone, infuriatingly ringing on the table next to them. He separated from her long enough to tell her to ignore it, because there was nobody and nothing that could be more important than Chelsea and her breasts and the lace of her bra under his palms. A quick kiss before she pulled back; when he tried to chase her, she put her fingers against his lips to stop him as she grabbed his phone.

“It’s your sister.”

Huh? Sister? That wasn’t a good excuse; she knew he was an only child. She couldn’t fool him! Chelsea was right where he wanted her, and he would not let some telemarketer ruin that. “I don’t have sisters. Definitely ignore it.”

He swallowed her adorable little laugh, and after a moment, his phone stopped ringing. See, it was fine, nothing to worry about! The outside world disappeared quicker than it appeared. Only until it wasn’t fine and his phone rang again; before he could take his phone and throw it across the room, Chelsea had already accepted the call and shoved his phone to his ear. Forcing him to talk to the person on the other end. Ugh. He didn’t want whatever they were selling. He fell back onto the mattress, exasperated, and held the phone to his ear with his shoulder.

“What do you want?” If he had to listen to some sales pitch, he would be as unpleasant as possible. The sooner they hung up, the sooner Elliot could get back to having sex with his wife.

The voice on the other end gasped lightly. “Now, is that any way to talk to the birthday girl?”

Birthday…oh, shit, he did have a sister. Two of them. Who were having a party that they were supposed to be getting ready for. Well…fuck. Oops. “Sorry,” he muttered, kind of, almost, maybe feeling a little guilty.

“No, you aren’t. But I forgive you anyway.”

Macy kept talking, but the words turned into a vague buzzing inside his head because Chelsea decided that, no, she wasn’t done teasing him just yet. Instead, she tongued over that sensitive spot on his throat, deliberately and maliciously, hard enough to make him involuntarily squirm at the sensation. Had to put all his energy and attention into holding back the noises he wanted to make. Because if he moaned into the receiver, Elliot would never be able to face Macy again. They couldn’t go to the party, and he would have to quit his job and possibly move to a new country.  

Macy’s voice faded in and out as Chelsea continued her assault on his neck, eventually upgrading to playing with his nipples. Fuck. Why was Macy talking so much? Why was this taking so long? The static in his ears got louder and louder as her hand moved lower, and she decided that he wasn’t quite undressed enough. He had to hold his breath when her hand found its way into his underwear, pushing it down enough so she could free him.

“Ell? Are you even listening to me?”

He exhaled as unsuspiciously as he could. “Huh…?”

“I asked if you were still planning on showing up. You’re missing all the fun!”

Oh, no, he was pretty sure he was having more fun right where he was. “Wha…” he cleared his throat, trying to make his voice sound natural and not like Chelsea currently had his dick in her hands. “What do you mean? We’re - we’re on our way.”

“Are you - liar!”

Hey, he didn’t think his excuse was that bad. It was pretty good for a guy with all of his mental capacity currently between his thighs. And, god, Chelsea was relentless. She didn’t let up for a second, mouth firmly leaving marks on his neck, her hand gently stroking him to keep him from going over the edge. Forget making noise; if he came right now, he would certainly have to fake his own death to avoid the embarrassment. That was the only thing keeping him tethered and mildly in control: complete humiliation.

But Chelsea was determined and dominant and had more control over him than he had over himself. He didn’t even need to look at her to know her ultimate goal: to make him fall apart. She had sucked a burning mark onto his neck, his body was shaking with the restraint of holding back and he had to hang up the phone very soon. He bit down on his tongue, taking a moment to compose himself before replying to whatever Macy said that he hadn’t heard. “We…we’ll be there as soon - as soon as we can, okay?”

“Okay, but - ”

He hung up. Sorry, Macy, but he would much rather apologize for his lack of manners than fucking scar her for the rest of her life. He tossed his phone aside and gave into Chelsea, gave her what she wanted. His threadbare restraint snapped in an instant and with Chelsea’s help and gentle encouragement, he came with a harsh groan. Phew.

“Oh, did I make that call hard for you, baby?” There was that overly-sweet tone that he loved so much. He smiled at her, still a little delirious and far away. Hah, he certainly wasn’t hard anymore, she’d seen to that herself. He said as much, regaining enough awareness of his hands so that he could squeeze her ass. Hmm. He really didn’t give her ass the appreciation it deserved, did he? 

She took care in cleaning him off and he watched her with a goofy grin, so enamored by her. So fucking in love with her. She could do anything and he would be totally and completely captivated by her. God, she was perfect.

“You trying to come more times than me today, or something?” His grin only got wider, innocently blinking up at her. What could he say? It was hardly his fault that she was so attractive. She only had herself to blame for all of this - he simply couldn’t help himself. 

And if she sat on his face he could very quickly rectify that more orgasms than her situation.

Instead, she climbed off his lap, putting a respectable, mature, reasonable distance between them. He hated it and made desperate grabby hands at her. Being responsible. That wasn’t any fun, he didn’t want to do that! “But I don’t wanna be responsible! I wanna fuck you!” Who could argue with that logic, huh? It was a very sound argument, if he did say so himself.

But she had more control and restraint than he did, obviously, and parted with a kiss and a promise that she also wanted to have sex, but she was much better at being an adult than him. He crossed his arms over his chest and flopped back onto the bed, scowling up at the ceiling. This was rude, unfair and an aggressive attack against him, personally. Fine. Fine. If he had to, he would get ready. But he wouldn’t be happy about it!

He tucked himself back into his underwear, adjusting himself until he was again comfortable underneath the denim. Once his jeans were buttoned up and his belt was notched, he felt a little more together, a little more in control. Yeah. They could do this. Sure, they were going to be obscenely late, but that was fashionable, right? They were just being fancy and high-class - that’s what he was going with. He could turn this into a roleplay: Elliot was a rich, famous actor, attending the premiere of his new movie with the new bombshell actress. Showing up to the red carpet fashionably late because they’d been fooling around in the back of the limousine on the drive there. Yeah, yeah, that sounded good. He liked that.

For now, though, he was simply Elliot, husband and dad, also running late to a party because he and Chelsea couldn’t stop fooling around. Some things were firmly rooted in reality. He gathered up all his used tissues and deposited them in the trash can, where they belonged, then moved to smooth out the bunched up comforter on the bed. Make it look nice and presentable and up to Chelsea’s standards. Adjusted a few pillows so they looked nicer and smiled down at the bed, pleased with himself. Yeah, Chelsea would be proud of that - and he was pretty sure he deserved at least one good boy for his efforts. Picked his shirt up from its forgotten space on the floor and tossed it into the hamper. There. Clean and presentable, like nothing ever happened. He’d definitely earned at least one good boy.

Back in his closet, he put on a fresh white shirt and spent a couple minutes playing with his hair in the mirror, admiring Chelsea’s work. She’d done very little to it, only cut off a dead inch or two, but the result was staggering, at least in his opinion. He spent a decent amount of time facing his reflection and he could clock the noticeable differences in the way it looked. Lighter, fuller, softer. She’d put a lot of care and attention into her work and it showed. He couldn’t believe he’d ever wanted to go to a hairdresser before - never again, that was for sure. It didn’t surprise him that she’d done such a good job, because as far as Elliot was concerned, there was nothing his wife couldn’t do. He was endlessly in awe of her. Of the truly remarkable woman he was lucky enough to be able to call his wife. He smiled at his reflection, happy with his hair, happy with himself. Now he was ready for a party.

So was Chelsea, with her hair fixed and done like he’d never had his hands in it. She appraised him, running one hand down his chest to the hem of his shirt. Nice and clean. He grinned at her, that warm and fuzzy feeling flowing through his body. He would accept praise in whatever form it took, especially from Chelsea. She guided him back over to the bed, and for a split second his stupid caveman brain got really excited; there was no party, only Chelsea. But she just had her makeup stuff in hand so that she could cover up his hickey. He gently touched his fingers to his neck, surprised; he hadn’t even noticed the bruise when he was looking in the mirror. He did what she asked and let her work her magic, trying to hold in the giggle that bubbled up from her little brush. In response, Chelsea giggled, too, and fuck if that wasn’t the best sound he’d ever heard.

“I love you more.”

It was nice, to be so comfortable and at ease with someone that the whole world seemed to disappear. That time seemed to stop and there was only this, only this moment and this place, with this person that had completely turned his world around. And he just looked at Chelsea, struck with the urge to cry. He couldn’t believe her. Couldn’t believe this beautiful, vibrant woman loved him and in turn made him kind of love himself, too. She was so beautiful and magical that he couldn’t help but believe her when she said he was good - and not just because of his borderline praise kink. He wanted to be good. Do good. Feel good. He did and he was. Because of Chelsea. Because of this amazing woman and her kind heart, giving him the grace and mercy he wasn’t always sure that he deserved. She did it, anyway. She was good, so good, and he was so fucking lucky to be able to witness it. It was a privilege just to be around her, in her presence. 

She finished her work with a kiss and he instinctively touched his neck again, this time coming back with some makeup on his fingertips. Oops. She chuckled at him and fixed his mistake with a playful shake of her head. He innocently smiled, just so happy and relaxed to be around her. This was his happy place. She gave him another kiss and this time he resisted the urge to touch, instead putting his hands to better use, pressing his thumbs into her calves to rub her legs. She asked him to put her shoes on and he obliged, eager to do anything for her. He took his time, idly playing with the straps for a moment before actually tightening them around her ankles. 

Ugh, okay, he guessed he had no more excuses to avoid leaving. She eventually climbed off his lap, much to his disappointment, and gathered up some of her things. Ugh. But he didn’t want to leave! He wanted to stay home and fool around and be a responsible adult. He pouted for another moment, protesting, before eventually giving in and standing up, putting all of her stuff into his pocket. She disappeared into the closet and reappeared with actual pom-poms and he dramatically sighed, clasping his hands over his chest. Be still, his heart. She couldn’t just do this to him, that wasn’t fair. 

She draped her arms around his shoulders, nuzzling into him. Ah. That was much better. You ready to go, baby? Absolutely not, but he appreciated her asking! “Are you sure I can’t go down on you one more time?”

Are you sure I can’t go down on you one more time?

“Noo—” As in no, she wasn’t sure. No, as in no more sex, they had to leave already. She matched his pout, sharing in his disappointment. Jeez, the utter devastation. Because they were both so dramatic and depraved and God, Chelsea was so dumb. Couldn’t get the D words out of her head. Her eyeline dropped down his body, down to the denim of his jeans. His shirt was tucked tight into his pants, belt looped and secure. Chelsea shut her eyes and sucked in a breath. Restraint, restraint, restraint. “I’ll sit on your face later, ‘kay baby?” She used the back of her palm to caress his cheek, to emphasise her proposition. Couldn’t get that pretty face of his all wet and messy before they made an appearance at the party, now could they? And hopefully it’d be the motivation they both needed to get a move on. The enticement of later. “After the party, I promise.” And they kept their promises in this house! “It’s a date.” Chelsea teased into the shell of his ear, nuzzling into his cheek. Affectionately nudged him with her nose before practically pulling him out of the bedroom to leave.

She made him be the one to drive. Forced him to concentrate and keep his hands to himself. It didn’t last very long, because they always had to be touching. Elliot trailed his fingers over the bare skin of her knee, climbing his hand up to the hem of her cheerleading skirt. His touch skimmed over the lace of the tulle underneath. Chelsea spread her legs, a little. Tilted her head back against the car seat and indulged in it for a moment. Her pom-poms crinkled under her heels, wedged between her shoes and the floor of his truck. No. Restraint, resolve. Chelsea curled her fingers around Elliot’s wrist and pried his hand away. Redirected it so he had both hands on the steering wheel again.

“Ah, ah.” She clicked her tongue, gently chastising him. Dimples set into the sides of her flirty smile. “You’ve got double the precious cargo in the car, mister.” Chelsea palmed her stomach—a complete and total hypocrite! Like she hadn’t done the exact same thing before; trying to stroke him off over his pants on the way to their date night literally a week before Luca was born. Making him pull over so that she could safely suck his dick in a suburban side street. Still. Elliot could never argue with that! Their safety was paramount, and with their track record of always somehow managing to end up in hospital? The only car accident Chelsea would ever fathom and accept was the one that led them to each other in the first place. Their little fender bender at Wrightsville Beach.

Elliot’s eyes went a little wide, like he realised the true weight of her words, and he nodded. Kept his hands firmly on the wheel, and they made it to the drive-thru of In-N-Out Burger without incident. With only minimal teasing on her end. She didn’t want to keep getting him too riled up! They were running late enough as it was! But they still needed to eat. 

He ordered for her at the speaker box. One strawberry milkshake, please, for them to share. He knew her favourites by heart, at this point—because he knew her. Always knew exactly what it was that she wanted. God, he was her favourite. Chelsea watched him with hearts in her eyes as he paid for their meal. Checked the takeout bag with a dopey grin plastered on her face when they left the drive-thru. She unwrapped Elliot’s burger for him and held it up to his mouth so he could take a bite. Leaned into him a little, her seatbelt trying to tug her back into the correct position. She resisted, nibbling on her lip as Elliot swallowed his food and trailed his tongue over her thumb, licking stray ketchup from her skin. “Better keep your eyes on the road, baby.” She lightly warned, voice filled with humour. “We don’t want an accident to happen.” With the car or his pants. The perfect double entendre! Chelsea swiped a bite out of his burger, muffling her coy laughter with the food swirling around in her mouth.

She fed him a handful of fries next. It was customary for him to lick the salt from the tips of her fingers, so Chelsea entertained him at the next red light. Groaned through a mouthful of her own cheeseburger. When she got her hand back, Chelsea picked up their shared milkshake from the cup holder and sucked down on the straw. Elliot nudged her with his elbow before she got the chance to set it back down. “You want some, gorgeous?” Elliot nodded, mouth closed while he chewed. Chelsea giggled, completely enamoured by him. Completely in love with him. Such good manners. Chelsea kept the straw steady for him, holding the cup up to his face. Elliot swallowed down his food and took a sip of the strawberry shake.

“You’re never too young for your first milkshake, I say.” Chelsea quoted, smiling so hard that her eyes got small. It was something he’d said the day that she’d told him she was pregnant with the twins—before they even knew that they were twins. Wow. It had been an early pregnancy craving that seemed to stick. Two pregnancies ago. God, almost three whole years ago. So much had happened in that time. So much had changed. Well, not everything. Being interrupted by family in a state of undress and in the middle of making out never seemed to change. And Chelsea was more than sure that it never would.

They’d been together, what? Two and a half, three months when Elliot had said that? Had made some cute comment to baby Jack about a milkshake? Chelsea could hear herself counting the numbers in her head, reminiscing, but... there were no other numbers after that. She’d loved him so much back then, and even then she knew it paled in comparison to how she felt now. To how close—mind, body and soul—they were now. No more numbers or counting, because their love was immeasurable. She loved him infinitely more than she had back then. And it just heightened the memory. It had been a cute comment in the moment, but now it made her chest warm; made her heart swell. 

“Do you remember when you said that?” She asked him, playfully curious. Wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t because, again, so much had happened between then and now. And she seemed to remember everything when it came to him: the shorts he was wearing the first day they met, the length of his hair, the way he’d lied about how he took his coffee so she wouldn’t judge him for his insatiable sweet tooth. Chelsea took another swig of the milkshake once Elliot was done. “What do you think, Sunflower? You’re not too young for your first milkshake, now are you?” Chelsea directed down at her pregnant stomach, hand rubbing back and forth over her cheerleading sweater.

Holding Elliot’s hand walking into the club kept her from touching her belly in public. Kept him from touching her baby bump, too—he was a gentleman and used his free hand to carry one of her pom-poms for her. The party was being held at some place called The Novo. Downtown LA and the thumping of music and the strong smell of alcohol spilled out onto the street. Chelsea gave Elliot’s hand a supportive squeeze. Played with his fingers. The last time they’d done something like this, he’d been anxious and panicked. Chelsea glanced up at his side profile. He seemed a little nervous, but nothing like how he was before her cousin’s barbecue a couple of weeks back. He was present. His breathing was paced and even. She could see the lines around his mouth, even from an angle and in the dark. Chelsea thumbed the edge of his smile, taken by the sight of him. “You’re so fucking sexy, y’know that?” Trailed her hand holding her single pom-pom up and down his arm, covered in leather from his costume jacket, and tickled him with the streamers. He was sexy and he was hers—and she was so giddy and excited for everyone to see it.

Inside, they were led to a VIP lounge by someone with a list and clipboard in hand, and were immediately ambushed by Macy at the entrance. Hands on her hips, playful and straining to fix her expression into something resembling anger. She looked absolutely incredible; wearing a pale blue-green dress that hugged her body, that made her pregnant stomach stand out. Vintage, 1920s. Stunning. Her hair was curled around her shoulders and accessorised with a floral rhinestone headband, like something out of The Great Gatsby. Dark red lips and bright blue eyes, just like Elliot’s. A soda with lime in her hand. Before Chelsea got the chance to reach out to give Macy a celebratory hug, the questioning started. “Well, well, look who it is! You guys got something you wanna tell me?” 

Elliot and Chelsea answered in unison, over the top of each other. Frantic and unorganised. Loud, over the booming club music.

“Um, happy birthday?” Chelsea anxiously smiled, showing her teeth. 

“I lied, I’m sorry! I lied!” Elliot caved, hands and pom-pom thrown up in the air in defeat. Chelsea released his fingers to palm away her laughter and they shared a look. She briefly buried her face into the arm of his jacket, slightly embarrassed. God, they were so stupid. And tardy. And terrible liars. Honesty always, right? Lying was practically a crime, at this point, and Macy was a lawyer. Soft, but scary. Chelsea couldn’t blame him for fessing up! If anything, it was endearing. Made her heart race, because he was so silly and she loved him so much. Her sweet husband.  

The conversation didn’t stop there. “You guys were over an hour late and you still didn’t have time to come up with a good story?” Macy said with a chuckle. She wasn’t upset, thankfully! Only amused. “Get a load of these two!” She waved a hand in front of them, gesturing. Rightfully shaming them. “You’re pregnant!” Macy grinned, looking directly at Chelsea.

“Noo...” Weak and unconvincing. Chelsea’s eyes darted to Elliot, alarmed. She tugged at the hem of her cheerleading sweater, stretching it out. “What... what would make you think that?” It wasn’t exactly a lie. She was just... skirting around the truth.

“Chelsea, you’re glowing!” Macy pointed out, speaking with conviction. Ugh. Who’s to say it wasn’t all the sex that she’d had today that was making her glow, huh?

Elliot stepped in before Chelsea got the chance to deny it more. “I can’t lie again! She is pregnant! We’re pregnant!” Oh my God. Chelsea hid her face behind her pom-pom. So much for that! She couldn’t even be mad—Elliot was so fucking cute. 

“You’re so easy to break, you know that, baby?” And she had the whole week of role playing as her evidence! But Chelsea wasn’t the only one who had Elliot wrapped around her finger, apparently. Macy looked triumphant.

“I know! I’m a bad boy, I’m sorry!”

“Ugh, too much info, Ell!” Macy screwed her face up in disgust, but quickly moved past it. “Ohmygod, congratulations! Why didn’t you guys tell me?! And... how? You had a vasectomy!”

Chelsea’s turn to confess. Somehow, it felt less embarrassing to admit to their stupidity than it was to talk about the reason for her secrecy. “We, uh… we kinda didn’t realise that you had to wait… wait three months to… to stop using protection.” She stammered, voice subdued by the music overhead. Red rose to her cheeks, the same shade as her costume. Chelsea grimaced.  

Macy thought it was hilarious. “Wow, I... I love you guys.” She slapped a hand on Elliot’s shoulder to keep herself upright, keeling over and laughing. “So much. You’re… you’re something else.” Chelsea linked her arm with Elliot’s, leaning into the side of his body. They could both use him as their guidepost, it was fine. Everything was fine!

Ugh. Did she have to keep going? “We love you, too!” Chelsea continued, speaking for the both of them. “And we… I didn’t want to take away from your pregnancy—”

“No, stop it! Don’t be silly, Chels!” Macy gasped and furrowed her eyebrows. Practically pushed Elliot aside to squeeze Chelsea into an embrace. “Come here!” 

“I’m sorry.” Chelsea said, small, head on Macy’s sequined shoulder. 

“Hush, you. I’m so happy for you! For you both.” Macy threw a wink in Elliot’s direction. “How far along are you? Do you know what you’re having?” She asked in an excited rush, releasing Chelsea from their hug to finally get some answers. 

“12 weeks, and—”

“We’re having a girl!” Elliot exclaimed, finishing her sentence with a grin. Chelsea shook her pom-pom in front of him, scrunching up her nose in defiance. “I guessed it right!” Yeah, yeah, he wasn’t ever gonna let her live that one down, was he? For once, she’d been wrong and Elliot’s daddy intuition had been correct. Once she was done being cute, Chelsea wrapped her arms around his waist, under his leather jacket, and tilted her head against his chest. Against his soft white t-shirt. 

“Yes, you’re very clever, baby.” She teased, glancing up at him. His reward was a chaste kiss to the underside of his chin. They locked eyes for a moment. Chelsea tried to communicate her good boy with the heat in her gaze, because they’d already scarred Macy enough for one night. 

Luckily enough, Macy seemed unphased. She was used to them being overly affectionate, by now. It didn’t seem to bother her. “Congratulations, you two! A non-alcoholic cheers to our new Baby Girl Holt!” Macy lifted her glass of soda into the air, and Elliot and Chelsea each raised a pom-pom. No non-alcoholic drinks for them, yet—they were still somehow standing in the entrance, for crying out loud. 

“And congratulations to you for turning thirty-three! And for Baby Boy Bhatt.” Chelsea ruffled Macy’s arm with the pom-pom. Macy tapped her pregnant stomach twice in agreement. “Happy birthday, Mace.”

Macy gushed over their matching Grease outfits. Snatched Elliot’s pom-pom up right out of his hands and danced around with it. She ushered them further into the club; almost-empty glass held up above her head in the air as she moved through the crowd. Caleb approached them with a new soda glass in hand. He shook it to grab Macy’s attention—and he definitely stood out; a chef’s uniform that was so starkly white that it looked fluorescent in the low-lighting of the club. Glow-in-the-dark, almost. And it was accompanied with a very tall, very traditional chef's hat. He was hard to miss. Caleb greeted Elliot and Chelsea each with a one-armed hug, holding the drink out of the way so it wouldn’t spill. Once he’d said his hellos, he swapped Macy’s old glass for the fresh one.

“Aww, my hero!” She chirped, straw immediately between her teeth. After a swig, she grinned and nodded toward Elliot and Chelsea. “They’re pregnant! Didn’t I tell you! You owe me five bucks, sweetie!” Caleb pretended to search the pockets of his chef's apron, but came up empty. He kissed Macy full on the mouth, instead. “That’s worth a billion dollars, thank you.” She gleefully replied when they parted.

See, Elliot and Chelsea weren’t the only ones who could be gross and overly affectionate in public! It was nice to see. Caleb slung an arm around Macy’s shoulder and regarded them with a bright smile. “Grease, huh! Don’t you look cute and cheery, Chelsea!” She giggled, joining Macy in attacking him with a pom-pom each. Chelsea had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t going to be getting that one back from the birthday girl. Oh well! It was Elliot’s turn for compliments next. “And Danny Zuko! I love it, man. You look great!”

“Mmm, yes, he does.” Chelsea automatically agreed with her brother-in-law. Ran her hand through Elliot’s hair on impulse. 

Caleb’s laugh came out as a scoff. “Okay, so is that why you were an hour late? Amy deserves five bucks for that bet.” Macy joined him in laughing at their expense. Chelsea hid her face in Elliot’s chest again, all in good spirit. She giggled with them. Yeah, yeah, the whole world knew that they were disgusting and depraved—they got it! Chelsea felt warm from the slight embarrassment. From feeling happy all over. Loved, connected, seen. This was their family! And this was going to be a great night, she could feel it.

“And you’re… a chef?” Elliot asked, looking slightly confused, but then answered with Caleb in harmony.

“Because I put a bun in the oven!”

“Because you put a bun in the oven?”

Both Elliot and Caleb stood with their mouths gaping open, awestruck. After a beat, Caleb pumped a fist in the air. “Finally someone gets it!” He beamed over at Macy, then looked back at Elliot. “You got me, man!” He clapped his hand over Elliot’s shoulder, smiling at him fondly. 

“That’s so good!” Elliot replied, creases by his eyes. Her baby was all about his puns and dad jokes! Caleb was clearly the same. Absolute nerds. Chelsea affectionately rolled her eyes. 

She was stroking Elliot’s chest with her thumb and snuggled into him a little more, content. “Root beer, baby?” She suggested. The bar was in their sights. All of this talking was making her thirsty.

Macy waved her pom-pom to stop them in their tracks. “No, no, no! I have a surprise for you!” 

“But it’s your birthday.” Was that a Holt/Voight/Pearson thing? Elliot had pulled the same stunt on Chelsea for his birthday earlier in the year. Not that Chelsea would ever complain or turn down a present. She loved presents!

“I’ll be back! Stay put.” Macy held up a finger to get them to stay, like they were obedient dogs, and hurried off. She returned a minute later with two men in tow, both wearing some version of a Prince’s costume… eerily similar to that of the one Elliot had worn earlier in the week when they did their first role play. “Elliot, Chelsea, this is Santiago.” He was wearing more of an old-timey costume, with a ruffle neck tie and waistcoat. “And this is Santiago’s husband, Julian.” Macy gestured to the other man, wearing the red Prince’s uniform with the bright blue sash and plastic medallions. Chelsea politely waved her pom-pom, but she was confused. New friends, maybe? 

“And Julian, here, is our brother.” Macy announced, touching his arm. “I mean, our half-brother. On Helen’s side. But still.” 

Chelsea blinked back her surprise, eyes immediately flitting across Elliot’s face to gauge his reaction. 

#elliot #elliot 31 #interaction #I AM POSTING THIS WITH LESS THAN 12 HOURS TIL MY FLIGHT TO NEW YORK BITCH GOODBYE

[chelseaheskett]

erection

[chelseaheskett]

#i'm posting this for the thread fucking YOLO #and what about it 😄 #chelsea #elliot #elliot 31 #misc #~

[chelseaheskett]

elliotholt​:

She came down from her orgasm and gave him glowing reviews; he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, so happy and proud of himself for doing a good job for her. That’s what he was here for! To be her good boy and make her happy and make her proud of him. That was all he wanted, it was everything he’d ever wanted. He gently brushed her hips with his thumbs, his face hidden in her skin until she finally pulled away and fell onto their bed with a happy, blissful little sigh. One of his favorite sounds. She was just his favorite, full stop. The most beautiful, captivating woman that he’d ever met. He’d never been so happy or felt so lucky to get into a fender bender in his life. It was the best mistake he’d ever made.

He climbed onto the bed next to her, being careful to dangle his feet off the side of the bed. Keep his shoes off the sheets, because that wouldn’t be very good of him otherwise. Crossed his ankles and swung his legs a little, very much an excited, giddy child. He’d done a good job! He would ride that high for as long as it lasted. She reached for him and tightened her hand in the front of his shirt, pulling on it enough to free the hem from where it was tucked into his jeans. Where am I, she said, all light and teasing, and he wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

“You’re home, baby.” She was with him. She was safe and she was protected and she was home. And she always would be. She grinned at him, huge and happy in a way that practically made his heart stop. Fuck. He would never get over that. Never get over her and how warm and wonderful she was and how fucking happy he was to have met her. And how fucking lucky he was to have been able to marry her. God, they were married. He still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that someone as amazing as Chelsea had chosen him. He would always be so, so fucking grateful for it and for her and for everything she’d given him. Everything she’d brought to his life.

“Your name is Chelsea.” He said it softly, carefully. Always so gentle with her name, because it was precious and sacred and needed to be treated with respect. Her name was his favorite word and it was always an honor to get the chance to say it. Her name was beautiful. She was beautiful. They were both on the same train of thought, apparently; but then again, when were they not? They always matched, always said and felt the same things. Just one of a hundred, a thousand, a million reasons why Chelsea was so special. She trailed her hand down his chest, telling him that he looked absolutely perfect. Wow. Talk about high praise. “Why, thank you,” he said and for a small, solid moment, he really did believe her. Didn’t hear that negative voice in the back of his mind, telling him he hadn’t earned that compliment. Didn’t feel shy and awkward and undeserving. He just believed her. And he liked the way that felt, really liked it. Positive feelings felt good, who knew.

You’re so sexy that it’s… frustrating. He laughed, high and a little bit taken off guard. He wasn’t expecting that one! It was new, he liked that. He smiled at her, the picture of innocence, like he had absolutely no idea what he did to her. What they did to each other. She was so gorgeous, it was hardly his fault that he was so attracted to her. She thumbed over one of his nipples and he had to bite down on his tongue to stifle the noise he made. Fuck. Like he needed a reason to get even harder. He had the strangest feeling that they were supposed to be doing something, but Chelsea had her hands all over him and his mind was completely empty. Ah, well, it couldn’t be that important, at least not more than Chelsea’s hand, dangerously low against his stomach. He tensed, anticipating her to go lower, show him just how sexy she thought he was, but she took a different path. Shoved his already short shirt sleeve up, squeezing his bicep the same way she would with her hand around his throat. Fuck. Why wasn’t her hand around his throat? He tilted his chin up, almost like he was trying to tempt her, but she didn’t bite, content to explore him at her own pace.

“Who said you had to keep your hands off me?” He said, his voice a challenge, knowing she couldn’t resist that. This lovely, dominant wife of his never backed down from a challenge. He didn’t want her to keep her hands off him - rather the opposite, in fact. How would he ever get through the night if she wasn’t constantly touching him?

You’re the perfect Danny Zuko, baby. He hummed, incredibly pleased, proud of himself. Yes, he had done a good job, hadn’t he? Sure, the costumes had been Chelsea’s idea and she’d practically told him what to wear…but he followed her directions like a good boy. Except. Oh, no, had he done something wrong? He pouted, so very sorry for whatever he’d done, until she took his wrist and unfastened his watch, keeping it in her hand. Oh. He felt naked without his watch! Wrong, incomplete without it. You’re not a bad boy like him, though. Are you, baby? You’re a good boy. And…he immediately forgot about his watch, fully melting into all that praise.

“I am a good boy,” he agreed, giving her those puppy dog eyes that always seemed to work in his favor. Like right now, as she pulled him into a hard kiss. This time, he didn’t bother to hold back his moan, immediately parting his lips so that her tongue could invade his mouth. God. He was so fucking aroused. How could he not be, with her basically naked and all over him? He could only handle so much, she was gorgeous and all consuming and he was a weak, weak man.

She pulled back, his lip between her teeth, biting hard enough to give him that pleasant little zing of pain. And since he was truly insatiable, he craved more and more, prepared to get himself a little more dressed for the occasion. Undressed. What was he doing wearing a shirt in the bedroom, anyway? That was against the rules - only a bad boy broke the rules. He was about to fix his horrible oversight, rid himself of his shirt, when all of a sudden she was gone, on her feet. No, wait a second, that wasn’t right! She wasn’t supposed to be that far.

They were going to be late, she said, and he blinked a couple of times, his head foggy and unclear. “Late…?” He asked, a little stupidly, trying to remember what the hell they were going to be late for. Did they have plans? She couldn’t really expect him to remember anything when she was standing in front of him wearing nothing, could she? She playfully smacked his chest and he whined, because that was not where he wanted her to hit him, teasingly or otherwise. I still have to get dressed. No, why would she have to do that? That sounded like a terrible idea.

Oh, shit, that was right. They were going to a party. Right. Couldn’t they still have sex, though? That seemed like an important part of the get ready process. She paced back and forth in front of him for a few moments and he watched her intently, smiling stupidly because he loved her so fucking much. God…had he mentioned how intoxicating she was? Completely captivating in a way that made it impossible for him to take his eyes off her. Being able to stare at her naked ass was a bonus, too. 

She mentioned his hair looking perfect, that she couldn’t tamper with it by adding hair gel. He instinctively dragged his hands through it, playing with the ends that grazed over his shoulders. “It looks perfect because of you, baby.” Because she’d done such a good job playing hairdresser, gave him the best haircut of his life. His hair felt softer to the touch with all the dead ends trimmed and it seemed like a crime if she couldn’t have her hands in it all night. She deserved to enjoy the fruits of her labor. Besides, he really didn’t think he could sit still long enough for her to slick back his hair. He was already barely holding himself together right now, uncomfortably hard against his jeans and desperate for relief. They just had to get out of this room and he would be fine. Yeah. Yeah, he would be fine.

And then she made a show out of unhooking her bra, throwing it into his lap, and yeah, he changed his mind, he was not going to be fine. In fact, he was probably going to combust if he didn’t get his pants off right now, if Chelsea didn’t climb into his lap and ride him into next week. Take that for me, will you, baby? Oh. She was mean and she was cruel and he craved every second of it. She promised that she’d be back, but if she didn’t leave in the first place she wouldn’t have to worry about it!

“Come back.” He reached an arm out to her, making grabbing hands, trying to be cute and submissive and all the things that he knew she couldn’t resist. At least, he thought she couldn’t. She resisted this time, throwing him a wink over her shoulder. “Noo, come back, I can be quicker.” Hadn’t Nurse Chelsea’s official diagnosis been that the patient was quick to reach climax? He was quick, it was doctor approved! She couldn’t argue with that one!

She could and she did, leaving him alone in the bedroom with an order of no peeking. He fell back onto the bed with a harsh whine, only a little bit out of his mind. Held her bra to his chest like he was cuddling a stuffed animal. This was his comfort bra and he was going to hold onto it and just fantasize that Chelsea was with him instead of being smart and responsible. He didn’t want to be smart and responsible, he wanted to be dumb and reckless and come. Again.

Why did they have to go and make plans, huh? He wanted to stay home and keep experimenting with these costumes, with her ideas. The things she could have up her sleeve with that Bad Sandy costume….oh, he was sure that she could teach bad boy Danny Zuko a thing or two about not underestimating her. You’re not a bad boy like him, though. Are you, baby? You’re a good boy. Fuck. She was going to kill him. With one hand wrapped around her bra, the other mimicked her path down his chest until he could press his palm over the front of his jeans. Fuck. He had to shove the fabric of her bra into his mouth to gag the sound he made; he didn’t want to disturb Chelsea! He was doing this so they wouldn’t be late and it would be a moot point if he distracted her with it! That was his rationalization.

This seemed awfully familiar; laying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, pressing hard enough to compensate for all the fabric between him and his hand. Only this time he didn’t have Chelsea to help him out, which was slightly disappointing and a little…hot? Like he was a kid sneaking around, trying not to get caught, having this dirty little secret for himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He unbuckled his belt with fumbling fingers, loosened it enough so he could get at the button and zipper and pull those free. There was just enough room for him to get his hand under his waistband, for him to wrap his fingers around himself with a groan that he could feel in his chest.

His own hand never felt quite as good as Chelsea’s; he missed her hot voice in his ear, encouraging him, telling him how sexy he looked with his hair all disheveled and sweaty, how beautiful it was for him to be completely at her mercy, telling him to be a good boy and come for her. He wasn’t a bad boy, he was a good boy. He was her good boy and even with his makeshift gag, he had to clasp a hand over his mouth as he bucked through an orgasm. Eventually had to toss her bra aside so he could catch his breath, completely slack against the mattress. Phew.

God, even in his own head her words were powerful and he had no doubt that she could talk him into an orgasm one of these days, without even touching him. He carefully withdrew his hand, using the last of his remaining energy to roll over and grab a couple of tissues to clean up that pesky little mess of his. Cleaned his sticky fingers and tossed the balled up tissues onto the sheet next to him. Okay, yeah, that wasn’t very good boy of him, but in his defense…that was a pretty good orgasm. Even by his own hand, it was always great whenever he had Chelsea talking him through it. He went to buckle his belt again, make himself look normal and presentable, when he noticed the mess he’d made out of his shirt. Huh. Oops. He’d thought he caught it all in his hand - probably should’ve pushed his shirt out of the line of fire anyway. Even after removing the worst of it, no matter how hard he scrubbed he couldn’t remove the lingering stain. Oh, fuck it. His shirt was a lost cause. He had approximately a million white shirts, he would just change and toss the soiled one into the hamper. It could join all of the other fabrics that he’d made an obscene mess out of the last couple of days. It was fine.

All of the energy he had left was reserved for recovering and staring up into space, his arms spread out across the bed, kicking his legs like a very pleased child. And just when he’d thought he finally got his hormones under control, Chelsea emerged from their bathroom like a goddess, dressed like a fucking cheerleader. Come on. He wasted a perfectly good orgasm by masturbating when she was putting on a cheerleading costume? God, he was a fucking idiot. This was quite literally his fantasy come to life. No, it was better than a fantasy, because Chelsea was real and gorgeous and right in front of him, her heels dangling off her fingers.

He sat up, almost completely in a trance, just staring at Chelsea with wide eyes. “I….I….” He stumbled over his words, unable to form a single coherent thought in his stupid, empty brain. Yeah, they were never leaving this room, that was all there was to it. Sure, he’d only just gone down on her, but now he simply had to do it again. “I…holy shit, Chelsea.”

Initially, she resisted him. Ignored the adorably desperate way he reached out for her, clenching and unclenching his hands like a child. Practically begging her to come back. Chelsea winked at him on her way to the wardrobe, adding insult to injury. The taunt only heightened his plea. Noo, come back, I can be quicker! Oh, she had no doubt about it. Continued to ignore him, anyway, because with some distance between them she could finally concentrate. Could finally think properly. Party. They had to get to Macy and Amy’s birthday party. 

There was such a thing as being fashionably late, of course, but Chelsea didn’t want to be too late. Didn’t want to be late enough for it to be considered rude. She was raised better than that! And she loved the twins—they deserved better than that. And Elliot had been the one to point it out: who said you had to keep your hands off me? The fun didn’t have to stop just because they weren’t at home. How much could they get away with doing in public? In a darkened room, with loud club music drowning out the sounds they made? Everybody probably drunk and unaware around them? Chelsea was excited. Tried to hurry up getting ready in the bathroom so they could leave already.

Elliot’s reaction to her cheerleading uniform made her start to lose her resolve. He was speechless. Gawked at her, his jaw flexed. He sat up on the edge of the bed, hands making fists in the sheets beside him. Almost tongue tied with the way he stumbled over whatever it was that he was trying to say. He communicated it, instead, with his eyes; wide and bright and so fucking blue. Looking so in love. So stunned. Chelsea swished her skirt side to side, feeling like a total supermodel. Like the sexiest she’d ever felt before. And all because of Elliot! Whatever insecurity she’d had earlier was long gone, and it was because of him. She hoped the cheerleading uniform lived up to the hype. Lived up to his every fantasy. By the look on Elliot’s face, it did. 

I… holy shit, Chelsea. He said, all high and breathy, and her heart skipped a beat. “Tell me about it, stud.” She quipped, stopping to stand in the open space between his legs. Sure, that movie quote was best meant for the catsuit, but it still worked! Seemed to work on Elliot, at least, and at the end of the day that was all that mattered.

It only took her another moment to realise what had happened in her absence. Elliot was surrounded by used tissues, scrunched up and scattered all over the bedspread. His belt was unbuckled and hanging from around his hips. The fly on his jeans was undone. There was a wet spot on his t-shirt. Bite marks were indented in the cups of her abandoned strapless bra. 

Holy fucking shit. 

She’d gotten ready, and he’d gotten off.

Chelsea released her grip on her shoes, and the high heels clattered onto the carpet. She slung her arms around Elliot’s shoulders, acting casual. Tried to keep a straight face. Tried not to give away that she knew. “So, what did you do while I was gone?” She wanted to hear him admit it out loud. 

“Myself.” Elliot declared, teeth poking out of his stupid, smarmy smile.

Chelsea snorted past a laugh. Nibbled down on her lip. The self-control she’d managed to regain in the bathroom was quick to disappear again. Arousal stirred in the pit of her stomach. Made her shift around in her underwear. Her previous pair had managed to last longer. She’d only been dressed properly for, like, three entire minutes! God. But there was just something so indescribably hot about Elliot having to relieve himself after their little make-out session... Like he couldn’t help it, like he just couldn’t control himself. He had to do it. He couldn’t not do it. She’d teased him about it before, about how much control she truly had over him, but fuck. Was it any wonder why she always felt so powerful? He made her feel that way. Sexy and dominant and so desirable that he couldn’t help but touch himself. And it made her horny all over again. Resolve gone. Party plans forgotten. Only Elliot. 

Chelsea raked her nails from his neck down to his chest. “Hmm, I can see that...” She moved lower and pinched the fabric of his shirt between her fingertips, stretching it out where he'd stained it with his orgasm. Fuck, how many times had he come today already? How many more rounds did he have left in him? “I hope you can still fuck me in this cheerleading uniform.” Chelsea said, low and sultry. Blinked at him through mascara-heavy eyelashes. Acting innocent as ever despite the heat in her voice. There was no shame or shyness—not anymore! She’d come a long way with her swearing and expletives. Her dirty talk. Elliot had corrupted her. Made her comfortable in her own skin. Within her sexuality. 

And Elliot had come far with his stamina. In the beginning, they were lucky to have sex more than once a day. Lucky to have sex every day. But bed death was a myth for them: as time passed, and as they grew together and as individuals, they seemed to just have more and more sex. It never stopped. They couldn’t stop. And things had shifted after Luca was born. Picked up even more, somehow, in that department. Even after two years of marriage. Guess that’s what happens after almost dying, huh? A four-month dry spell broken on their wedding anniversary, and they hadn’t been able to stop ever since. Chelsea never wanted to stop. Every time was better than the last, and every day she fell more and more in love with him. She was never sick of him. Would never be sick of him. She constantly craved him. His touch, his body. And Elliot had become conditioned to adapt to their ever-growing sex life. She’d said it once and she’d say it again: these days he had the refractory period of a teenager.

Case and point! Elliot grabbed her hand and guided it down to his crotch. She stroked his erection through the denim of his jeans. “Does that answer your question?”

Fuck yes. Chelsea positioned herself in his lap, pressing her knees into the mattress on either side of him for leverage. Straddling him. Dimples deep in her cheeks when she smiled at him. “It does.” She hummed and cupped his face in her hand. “Remember all those times you told me you wouldn’t be able to get it up?” Chelsea skirted her mouth over his, teasing him with a kiss. Not giving it to him good and proper until he gave her exactly what she wanted first. Do you think I can get it up? I am so unaroused right now I may never get hard again. He’d told her that on their plane ride to New York last summer, when she wanted to join the mile high club to distract him from his flight anxiety. Told her the exact same thing literally less than two weeks ago. It’s so bad, baby. I won’t be able to get it up. It’s hopeless. And Elliot had been wrong on both accounts, thank you very much! Sure, it had only happened twice, but Chelsea liked those odds. Liked statistics. Probability. Elliot knew this about her! 

Chelsea tilted her forehead to his. She was breathing heavy against his chin, her lips parted in concentration. Palmed him off with her hand. “I can always get it up.” Elliot conceded, nose brushing against hers. Chelsea agreed with a moan rumbling at the back of her throat. Nodded. He continued. "I was wrong, you were right.” 

Those were the magic words! They both had their things. He had good boy, and Chelsea had you were right. Validation delivered slightly differently. She loved it when he called her a good girl, too—something she’d only discovered recently, bent over his thighs while he spanked her. While he marked her ass bright red with the weight of his hand. It was her favourite colour, after all. Their favourite colour, as evidenced by her cheerleading uniform. By the bow tied up in her hair. 

Elliot kept his hands at the waistband of her skirt, fingers digging into her skin as she relented and finally kissed him. Immediately shoved her tongue down his throat. Filled his head up with her breath, her moaning. Had to stop stroking him over his jeans to anchor herself with her fingers straining against his scalp. With all his curly hair in her hands. They picked up exactly where they’d left off earlier: frantically making out, Chelsea grinding down into his lap. Only she had more clothes on, this time. For whatever reason. She didn’t know and she didn’t care—she just wanted to keep kissing her sexy husband, please and thank you. 

His top was stained and urgently needed to be removed. Chelsea grabbed his shirt by the hem and Elliot obediently lifted his arms up. It was like a dance, the way they moved together. So in sync, so in tune with one another. They didn’t need words, only touch. Didn’t break away from their kiss until his shirt, skin tight, got stuck around his neck. Chelsea pulled back to yank it up and over his head. Tossed it away so hard and so fast that it blurred in her vision. Made her feel dizzy. Maybe that was just Elliot; his bare chest rapidly rising and falling in an attempt to catch his breath back. Chelsea gave him a momentary reprieve from her mouth by shoving him down onto the bed, hard and dominant. He bounced against the mattress with a groan.

He was lying across the bed the wrong way. Kept his shoes on the floor still, because he was a good boy. The best boy. Even with all the tissues around them. Chelsea was so fucking hot for him that she didn’t even care about the mess. Didn’t care about anything that wasn’t Elliot. “Tell me...” She said, panting. Head swimming from a lack of oxygen. “Tell me what you were thinking about when you... when you took care of yourself.” And just like before, she already knew the answer. Knew him. Knew him better than anybody else ever had or ever would. She just wanted to hear him say it out loud. 

“About being your good boy.” 

She hovered over him. “And look where that got you.” Chelsea teased, a smile in her eyes. Leaned down to kiss him again, rolling her hips into his body. Held his face in her hands soft and tender despite the hard way she kissed him. “Fuck, you’re so good. Such a good boy, baby.” She whispered, hearty and breathless against his lips when she pulled back. Elliot’s fingers tangled in her hair, bringing her back down to meet his lips. Tongues meeting between parted mouths. His hand found the ribbon in her hair, accidentally tugging it loose. He drew back from her, this time, the silk material slipping between his fingers. He rapidly blinked. Chelsea’s eyes flit across his face, watching the realisation dawn on him. It sucked the air right back out of his lungs. 

“Bow... Red bow...”

“One in the same.” She was so glad he noticed! “It’s all for you, baby.” The red bow, the red cheerleading uniform. She was his. Forever and always. She just wanted to look good for him. Wanted him to feel as crazy in love and as turned on as she always was. His finger wrapped around the loosened ribbon, and he used this as leverage to pull her down into yet another kiss. Chelsea grinned against his mouth, giggling through a groan. Her panties—silk like the ribbon and completely soaked through, at this point—scraped against the zipper on his jeans, back and forth, back and forth. Fucking into each other with their clothes still on. They had to be matching at all times, though: Elliot dragged the cheerleading sweater up her body to discard it. No shirts in the bedroom.  

It was like the wet dream he’d described to her, what? Only eighteen hours before? Her in his lap, cheerleading skirt hiked up around her hips, no shirt on. Chelsea sat up against his waist, giving him easier access to rid her of her top. He followed after her, sitting up on the mattress, his hands coming around to the clasp at her back. He still had her bra to contend with! 

The sound of his phone ringing and buzzing on his bedside table broke through their panting and moaning. 

Fuck, they still had the outside world to contend with.

“Ignore it.” Elliot urged, palming over the lace cups of her bra instead of taking it off. As if keeping it on would mean they weren’t actively being irresponsible and tardy. He distracted her further by putting his tongue back in her mouth. 

Chelsea indulged him for a moment. Forced herself to break away when the ringing wouldn’t stop. Her lips smacked together, crawling over to his side table to retrieve his phone. Macy’s name and picture flashed on the screen. Shit, the time. Were they really almost forty minutes late? “It’s your sister.” Chelsea sighed, shuffling back over to him with his phone in hand. She swung her leg over his lap, straddling him again. 

“I don’t have sisters.” Elliot quickly replied, witty as ever. “Definitely ignore it.” He planted his mouth on hers. Chelsea’s whine came out as a moan. A weak, unconvincing protest. 

The ringing briefly stopped before it started up again. Chelsea pulled away from Elliot’s kiss and trilled her lips. “Okay, okay, she’s your sister, you answer.” She said, face lit up with humour. She didn’t give him much of a choice: clicking the screen to start the call before shoving it up to his ear. Exasperated, Elliot fell back onto the bed. Jammed the phone between his shoulder, so he could run his hands over Chelsea’s ass underneath the ruffles of her cheerleading skirt.  

“What do you want?” Elliot practically grumbled into the receiver. Chelsea had to bury her laughter in his neck. Talk about being rude. It was only the birthday girl he was talking to! Well, one of them, at least. God, they were so rude and bad and misbehaving today, weren’t they? Hmm. Speaking of misbehaving... Chelsea tongued at his throat, teeth lightly nipping at his skin. She could hear the murmur of Macy talking on the other end of the line, but she couldn’t make out what she was saying. Concentrated on kissing Elliot’s neck, instead. His sweet spot. He squirmed underneath her. Took his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to keep himself quiet and composed. Oh no, that simply wouldn’t do! Chelsea tweaked his nipple between her thumb and forefinger, and bit down into his skin. Hoping to leave a mark. She could cover it with concealer later. It was fine! 

Elliot, however, was not fine. The air whistled between his teeth when he let out a shaky exhale. He was doing such a good job of playing it cool. Keeping himself contained. And for as much as Chelsea didn’t want him to embarrass himself in front of his sister, she needed him to break. She’d learnt that much this week role playing! The dizzying power it gave her when she got him to break character. When she got him to give in to her... The rush and excitement of it all. Chelsea smirked into the hollow of his throat. Finished playing with his nipple and slid her hand down his naked torso. She got her fingers between their bodies, through the open zipper of his skin tight jeans and past the crotch of his even tighter pair of underwear. One-handed, Chelsea tore the fabric down far enough to free him from the constraints of the material. Far enough down that she could gingerly wrap her fingers around him. Elliot didn’t want to make any noise? That was fine—Chelsea could be loud enough for the both of them. She muted her moaning into his neck, the sound vibrating from her lips against his skin. God. Fuck, he felt so good. It felt so good to get her hand around him. To have him bucking up into her grasp, and trembling under the movements of her tongue sucking hickeys into his neck. It was silent begging. Restrained.

Elliot managed to answer a dubious huh? to Macy on the other end of the receiver. Chelsea encouraged him with a tighter grip. But he was a good boy! Did his very best not to make any inappropriate noises, even if it meant stumbling over his words. “Wha… what do you mean? We’re - we’re on our way!”

Macy’s gasp and subsequent shriek of LIAR! had Chelsea stopping to muffle her laughter again. It was loud enough and clear enough for her to hear, even over Elliot’s laboured breathing. “We… we’ll be there as soon - as soon as we can.” Very smart wording, even under duress. Even with her tongue trailing kisses down the curve of his neck, and her hand twisting and twisting around him.

Chelsea lifted her head upon hearing the click of the call ending. Elliot’s shoulders pressed back into the mattress, and his phone fell, quickly forgotten, onto the bed sheets. She pumped him once more with a tight fist and all the noise he’d been keeping in finally escaped in a loud, strangled groan. He came over his stomach in spectacular fashion. A throwback to the middle of the night, when sex in a cheerleading uniform had only been a wet dream and not reality. And there Elliot went, making a mess again! Her silly baby. Oh, you’ve made such a mess, Your Highness. A throwback to their Maid-Prince role play. Chelsea didn’t repeat it, but she was thinking it, and that was just as effective with them.

She grinned, flashing her dimples. “Oh, did I make that call hard for you, baby?” She asked, all fake sweet and innocent. Chelsea had never done anything wrong or bad in her entire life, actually. She ran her hands over his bare chest. “My bad.” No actual apology, because she wasn’t even the least bit sorry!

“Not anymore!” Elliot huffed. His fingers were bunched up in her skirt, and he gave her ass a good squeeze. She laughed, light and airy. Full of joy.

Chelsea sat up against his waist to straddle him. It made it easier to reach the tissues. She plucked some from the box and swept them over Elliot’s stomach, cleaning him up. “You trying to come more times than me today, or something?” Chelsea quipped with a cocked brow, eyes down while she concentrated on cleaning. She was happy for him, truly, but that wasn’t exactly fair, was it! She wanted to have sex with him too, thanks! It had been by her hand this time, at least. She’d count that as a win. Chelsea dragged her eyes up his naked body to meet his gaze. Bright blue eyes, still rapidly blinking away his orgasm. She tongued her teeth. Fuck, he was sexy. Talk about unfair.

A bruise was starting to blossom over the skin at his neck. She ghosted her fingers over it, careful not to touch. Chelsea had more work cut out for her. “Alright... let’s go be responsible and finish getting ready, baby.” A to-do list she unconsciously ticked off: she needed to fix her hair and make-up and put some on over his hickey. Yeah, her bad. She giggled, high on life and drunk on his love. Cheeks as red and flushed with blood as the colour of her uniform. Even without her own orgasm!

“But I don’t wanna be responsible! I wanna fuck you!” Hey, that’s what she’d said! Elliot hit her with his signature wet puppy dog eyes; a childish whine to his voice.

Aww, her poor baby. Chelsea matched his expression, lips jutting out in a pout. “I wanna fuck you too, gorgeous! But we gotta goo.” He kissed her pout away, and she granted him that. One final kiss! Pulled away from him with a sweet and sympathetic smile and jumped up off the bed. Jumped right into action.

She found her sweater on the floor and slipped it back over her head. Crossed over to the bathroom, where she used the toilet to clean herself up. Pat her underwear down until the fabric was relatively dry. There was no point in putting on a clean pair—she’d already seen how well that went, how long that had lasted with the black thong. She flushed, washed her hands, assessed herself in the mirror. Her curls had dropped into loose, messy waves. The bow was completely undone and hanging. Her hair was more down than it was half-up, half-down. Chelsea started from scratch, brushing through it until it was presentable again, and fixed it back to its proper style. Tied the ribbon at the back into a bow again, like nothing had ever happened. She reapplied some of the foundation she’d sweated off back onto her face. Blended in more concealer with the tip of her finger. She took the foundation bottle, the concealer stick and a clean make-up brush out into the bedroom.

Chelsea ran into Elliot at the junction between the bathroom and his walk-in-wardrobe. He’d fixed his own hair, and was dressed again; clad in a fresh, tight white t-shirt. “Hi, baby!” Chelsea greeted him with a grin. “Nice and clean.” She said, giving his shirt a teasing little tug before linking their fingers together. “Come here.” She lead him to the bed, and they sat together on the edge of the mattress. She faced him, throwing her legs over his lap. Comfortable as ever. Chelsea gently coaxed his head away from her, so she had better access to his neck. “Tilt your head for me, baby. Let me cover up this hickey.” He complied, and she painted over the bruise with the make-up brush and foundation. He giggled at the sensation, ticklish. Chelsea shook her head, smiling wide. Completely enamoured with him. “I love you.” She said, like it was the most simple thing in the world. For her, it was.

Chelsea finished off by dotting some concealer over his skin. It’d probably sweat off after some dancing and any other activities they were sure to get into, but it was good enough for now. She pressed a chaste kiss along his jawline. “Help me with my shoes, please?” She gestured down to her high heels strewn across the floor by the foot of the bed. Elliot scooped them up for her. Kept her feet in his lap and slipped them on, buckling the straps with long fingers. “Thank you.” Chelsea hummed, leaning into the side of his shoulder. Momentarily enjoying the tender, quiet moment together. 

They were going to be over an hour late for this party. Still needed to grab dinner on the way, needed to make it through LA traffic and find a car spot in the parking garage, too. Reluctantly, Chelsea got up off the bed. Rummaged through her wallet on her nightstand and grabbed all the necessities. ID, her debit card, some cash just in case. She’d hold onto her phone by hand or put it in her bra if she had to, so she didn’t have to bring a bag with her. “Pocket, please!” She said, passing her things to Elliot. He was lucky, okay—he had jeans with pockets! She snagged his leather T-birds jacket from over the bed railing and tossed it at him. She had one more stop before they could leave. Ventured back into her wardrobe and found where she’d hidden her pair of pom-poms. One white, one red. Just to tie the whole costume together! Chelsea emerged from her closet and waved them around, being the best cheerleader ever. Elliot was on his feet, jacket folded over his arm. She bridged the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck, pom-poms over his shoulders and brushing against his back. 

Chelsea’s nose touched Elliot’s, they were standing so close. They swayed together on the spot. “You ready to go, baby? Go say bye to everyone?” Yeah, because they also had to individually say goodbye and goodnight to every single one of their small children before they left the house. And her mom, who had been looking after everything while they’d been busy fooling around. Oops. They were so rude and irresponsible. They were going to be so late.

#elliot #elliot 31 #interaction #🔥 🔥 🔥

[chelseaheskett]

elliotholt​:

(LINK TO FULL REPLY HERE)

“Feel better, baby?”

He immediately came to her aid. Drew her close to his body and his warmth and held her face in his hands. Thumbed the tears from her cheeks. Huge crocodile tears, like she was Isaac. Like she was her two-year-old son. Hey, hey. No, baby, no. You don’t look ridiculous at all. You look incredible. Elliot’s eyes were soft; creased at the corners. His words were gentle and genuine, and even though she knew he meant it, Chelsea couldn’t believe it. The voice in her head was loud enough to drown out his assurances. To argue back against him and his sweet sentiments. Chelsea squeezed her eyes shut, letting the tears fall freely down her face when Elliot touched his forehead to hers. Their bodies were so close that she couldn’t not hold him back. Wrapped her arms low around his waist, keeping him flush to her body. To all the leather that stuck to her skin because of the stupid catsuit. Hugs were healing, okay? Elliot was healing. He always knew how to make her feel better. Always. 

It didn’t mean that she still wasn’t stubborn about it, though. “You have to say that. You’re my husband.” Her usual party line. He’d never call her ugly or fat or ridiculous, simply on principal. Even when she was! He was a good man and a good husband. A good boy. And they had well established how much he loved her pregnant and showing, so of course he couldn’t see the problem. He was blind to it. Chelsea tried to do the same; keeping her eyes closed so she didn’t have to see his expression. The love and tenderness that was undoubtedly showing on his face, in his softened gaze. The love and tenderness that she wasn’t so sure that she deserved. At least, she didn’t feel like she deserved it. Not right now, anyway. Not with the first trimester hormones raging. Chelsea sniffled. 

Elliot was combative—because of course he was. Because she would’ve been too, if the situation had been reversed. Because they would go to war for each other. No, baby, you look so fucking sexy. Chelsea sharply inhaled, nose wet and stuffy. Their noses grazed together, anyway. He didn’t care about the mess. How many times had they done this before, huh? How many times had he comforted her while she was cried? A whimper caught in her throat. To tell you the truth, I’d go down on you right now. Elliot’s voice dropped to a whisper, low and sexy. Her eyes fluttered open, and Chelsea pulled back from his forehead to finally catch the look on his face. The sincerity. The salaciousness. She rapidly blinked the tears away. And despite it all, despite all the heaviness and her hormones, Chelsea laughed. Her body betrayed her storming mind and she laughed. Expelled all of the air out of her lungs. The weight finally dropped in her shoulders. 

See! He always knew how to make her feel better. Knew how to ease her mind, every single time. Always.

Chelsea used a knuckle to wipe the last remaining tears from her eyes and then hugged her arms around his neck. Pushed her lips out to softly kiss one of the mouth lines by his smile. His sweet, cheeky smile. He seemed rather proud of himself, actually. “Baby, you went down on me this morning.” Chelsea lightly reminded him, teased him, voice gravelly from all her crying. Sure, a whole... what, twelve hours had passed, but still! Elliot had a sweet tooth. Eating her out was one of his favourite activities. Honestly, they’d never leave the house if either one of them had a say in it. And hadn’t she used the same tactic on him before? Giving him a blowjob in her cousin’s bathroom at a family barbeque to pull him out of a panic attack. To get him out of his head. It’d been effective then, and she had no doubt in her mind that it’d be effective on her now. She was already halfway there—already feeling better. Lighter. Focused on Elliot and his touch instead of that voice inside her head. Instead of the negative thoughts that tried to draw her back into it. The numbers and the counting and the repetition.

He dried her tears, gently caressing her skin. Thumbed over the dimples in her cheeks. That’s better. There’s my favourite smile. Chelsea’s grin only grew, his words tugging at her heart. Would cry again, if he kept going. Not because she was sad this time, at least—no, she’d cry because she was in love. Because she was grateful and so in love and she couldn’t believe it was even real, sometimes. God. 

“You’re my favourite.” She replied, tongue in cheek. Lame but true. Could they talk about his smile, for a second? Fuck, talk about incredible. Talk about sexy. The dimple in his chin, the deep lines around his mouth, the Goddamn creases by his eyes—so blue and bright that she could drown in them. This particular list, the one she had of her favourite Elliot facial features, was overused, and constantly repeated in her thoughts like a prayer, but could you blame her? Look at him. His smile was the cure-all. It was his trump card! The trick he’d always have up his sleeve. She might’ve been the dominant one in their relationship, but she was powerless to resist his smile. It was impossible not to smile back. Not to be swept up in it, and in him, whenever he broke out into a grin. That was her favourite smile, thank you. He was her favourite person in the whole entire world. 

“I’m only smiling because of you, y’know that?” He deserved all the credit. She nuzzled her nose against the side of his face. Planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thank you. I love you.” Chelsea said, sounding small. Sounding soft and vulnerable. Grateful. 

Elliot asked her if she had anything else she could possibly wear to the party instead of the catsuit. Something more comfortable and less revealing of her baby bump. Ugh, right. Back to the issue at hand! God, he was distracting. She’d forgotten about it there, for a minute. Chelsea slumped into him, dramatic as all hell. Time to act like Jenny, this time! Her teenage daughter. What was worse? Behaving like a two-year-old or a pre-teen? She buried her face in his chest. In his tight, white t-shirt. 

Was there anything else she could wear? The sexy maid, sexy school girl and sexy nurse costumes were out for the count—hidden at the bottom of their hamper. Dirty and soiled. They’d had so much sex this week that she was a little behind on laundry. Oops. Well, she couldn’t exactly wash them with all the kids’ clothes, now could she! That didn’t feel right. And, anyway, even if they had been clean, she didn’t want to wear them out. They were sacred. Would be worn in this room and this room only! For Elliot only. They were no longer costume choices for a birthday party, but role playing outfits. 

She did have one more costume left, though; hanging untouched in a garment bag at the back of her closet. The cheerleading uniform from Grease, because her one from her freshman year of high school would never fit her now. Definitely not now, with her pregnant stomach starting to show. But, ugh! Chelsea had been trying to save the best for last! She’d been slowly working up to it all week. They’d been talking about her wearing a cheerleading uniform for forever. He’d had a wet dream about it last night, for Christ’s sake! He must’ve known. Must’ve had a feeling. He could always read her mind—she didn’t even know why she was surprised, at this point. They were soulmates! Dammit. 

It made sense for her to wear it tonight; an A-line skirt that wouldn’t stick or cling to her body, that might let her pass as not being pregnant. Ugh. Her eyebrows dipped down in a frown. She didn’t like it when she didn’t get her own way! Didn’t get what she wanted. It was the spoiled only child in her. Only child syndrome, or whatever they called it. Combine that with the dominance and power that Elliot constantly gave her, and she was back to acting like a toddler again. A complete and total brat. “I do, but...” She hesitated, practically pouting. “But I was saving it!” Chelsea whined. “I wanted to save it just for you.” Blinked up at him with sad, wet eyes.

Saving was for suckers, apparently. Elliot wasn’t saving anything for later: captured her mouth in a passionate kiss, and then turned her around so that her back was pressed to the front of his body. Forget the fact that they’d already had sex, like, three other times today. She made a noise, because she always did when he surprised her like that. Swallowed down a moan. He dragged the zipper down the catsuit, slow and delicate. Downright calculated, if you asked her. Fingers soft on her skin as the back of the costume gaped open. And to make matters worse (better), Elliot started in on the hollow of her neck with his tongue. Chelsea unconsciously pushed back against him, rubbing her ass against the front of his jeans. Had to dig her nails into the denim over his thigh to have something to hold on to. Was he trying to distract her again? Because it was working. Her exhale was slow; her breath whistling between her teeth as he sucked over the sweet spot on her neck. Chelsea threw her head back, giving him better access. Her free hand climbed up into his hair, like it always did, and yanked. 

Elliot didn’t stop there, either. Trailed kisses down her throat and whispered the sweetest words imaginable into her skin. You’re so beautiful, baby. I love you so much. You’re not ridiculous. You’re incredible. How could she not feel like the most special person in the world when he talked to her like that? When he touched her like that? Fuck, she could cry again. Had to bite down on her lip with her top set of teeth to keep herself relatively quiet. She’d been so lost in his words, in the feel of him and the heat of his body, that she hadn’t even realised that she was almost naked. Not until the top of the leather catsuit was gathered at her hips in a heap, and Elliot’s hands were stroking over the swell of her stomach. Chelsea released his hair, and his leg, and brushed her fingers over his. Hugged him back, even if only for a moment. “I love you so much. Soo much.” Her so carried in a moan, helplessly reacting to the way he was whining into her neck. God, they were hopeless. Horny and hopeless.

He sunk down, knees on the carpet. Chelsea used her now-free hands to fling her hair back over her shoulders, fan her face. She was sweating. Her skin felt like it was on fire. You’re amazing. You’re so good. Hey, that’s what she always told him! Those were her lines! But they weren’t exactly lines; they were the truth. Plain and simple. She meant it every single time she said it to him, and she knew he meant it when he was saying it to her now. Chelsea felt beautiful. He made her feel beautiful. And good and amazing and happy again. Nothing else mattered when he treated her with so much affection and care. Nobody else’s opinion mattered in these moments—not even hers. Only Elliot’s. 

He stripped the leather outfit down her legs, and it was so tight against her skin that Elliot unwittingly took her pair of panties with him. A black, lacey thong that already needed to be thrown into the wash, it was that wet. Jesus. She’d only just put it on in the bathroom! Oh well. Elliot tossed everything in the direction of the hamper; out of sight, out of mind. Left Chelsea standing there in only her bra: nude and strapless, slightly too small for her growing breasts, enlarged because of the pregnancy hormones. For once, though, Elliot wasn’t paying attention to her chest. Had his sight, and his mouth, set on something else. 

His fingers flared out over her hipbone, holding her steady. She anchored her hands in his hair, like she always did. His nose brushed over her, settling up on his knees, and her legs immediately started to shake. Chelsea tightened her grip on impulse. Elliot was slower than usual. Softer. Didn’t use his fingers, only his tongue. God, that felt so good. An involuntary tear slid down her cheek. Crying, but not really crying. She felt weak on her feet, but her moans were strong. Intense and drawn out and uncontrolled. Chelsea untangled one hand from his hair to cover her mouth; cover up the noises he was pulling out of her. They couldn’t have anyone hearing her! Couldn’t have this much needed moment interrupted. 

Her other hand strained against his scalp, forcing him in closer. He mopped her up with his tongue, and she rocked into his face, driven by desire and desperation. Couldn’t think about anything else, couldn’t focus on anything else—only Elliot and his mouth and his tongue stroking over her in just the right place, at just the right time. 

Just the right amount of pressure and she was gone, collapsing under his tongue. Her toes scrunched up in the carpet, her whining turned high-pitched and harsh. She couldn’t feel anything in her body besides the pleasure tingling all over her skin. Fuck. Elliot digging his nails into her waist was the only reason she even stayed upright. She felt about ready to pass out. His tongue lightly lapped over her, even after the fact. A few more licks and she was trembling around him again. Had to tap him on the head to get him to back off before she actually did pass out. 

Elliot trailed his mouth down to her thighs, kissing her there instead. Feel better, baby? “God, so much.” Chelsea said, replying immediately; voice rough and raspy. Her eyes fluttered open, and black spots dotted the edge of her vision. When it evened out, all she could see was Elliot, sitting on the floor and looking up at her with a smile behind his eyes. Proud of himself all over again. He nipped at the inside of her thigh with his tongue and his teeth, and Chelsea cried out, hit with another sort of aftershock. A wave of pleasure that spread across her entire body. “Jesus fucking Christ.” She swore, eventually breaking away from him to stumble over to the bed and sit down. Wasn’t aware of anything except for the fact it probably wouldn’t be too good for the baby if she legitimately fell or passed out. Had that much brain power and smarts left, at least. 

Chelsea dropped back onto the bed, sleepy in her afterglow. Forgot all about their plans, about everything that ever existed. Just needed to rest, for a minute. The mattress dipped down beside her. Chelsea made a happy noise at the back of her throat, blindly reaching out for Elliot with grabby hands. She fisted his shirt and tentatively opened her eyes. “Where am I?” She crooned. Had she been crying before? That felt so far away, now. Wow. She gave him a wide, ditzy smile; dimples pressed into her cheeks. “What’s my name?” All she knew was that she was his. And Elliot always made her name sound so good and sexy—she needed to hear it. “What year is it?” She tacked on, a little silly and giddy. Like one of those assessments they did on football players after a concussion. Something something about nurses and cheerleaders and—shit, they had a costume party to get to, didn’t they? Somehow, there was still more fun to be had.

She had to get dressed. Elliot was dressed. Chelsea unclenched her fist from his shirt and smoothed out the material with a hand. Trailed the tip of her finger seductively down his chest. “You look absolutely perfect, by the way.” She hadn’t gotten the chance to tell him that yet. His t-shirt was tight, hugging his body in all the right places. His nipples were poking through and showing. Chelsea thumbed one over the fabric, tongue poking out past her teeth in concentration. Elliot’s pants were tight, too. In more ways than one. Chelsea giggled. His legs were dangling off the edge of the bed, so his shoes weren’t touching any of the linen. He knew how much she hated that! What a good boy! He was wearing his Converses, because they all had a pair. Even the babies! They liked to match, what could she say!

And Chelsea had a lot to say. “You’re so sexy that it’s... frustrating.” She searched for the most appropriate word, and settled on that. Didn’t want him to think it was just the afterglow talking. Didn’t want him to think she was just stroking his ego because he’d gone down on her. Chelsea felt like this all the time, thank you! Before and after sex. He was so gorgeous, so good looking that it was almost annoying. He shouldn’t be allowed to look this good, honestly. It was unfair, how hot he looked. How fucking good he looked all the time. Every day, without even trying. How did she get so lucky, huh? Chelsea roamed her hands all over his body. Pressed through his shirt to line over his ab muscles. The shirt might as well have been see through, not white, because she could see all of him. It was a good t-shirt! It was a great costume. 

Chelsea couldn’t get her hand all the way around the muscle of his bicep, it was that big. So big. Gave his forearm a squeeze, instead. To emphasise how ridiculously ripped and sexy he was. See, it was frustrating! She tickled her fingers down his arm until their hands met and intertwined together. “How am I meant to keep my hands off you all night?” Asking the important questions. It seemed like an impossible endeavour. And they didn’t exactly care about PDA etiquette, either. Oh well! Chelsea brought their joined hands up to her mouth, brushing a kiss over his knuckles. “You’re the perfect Danny Zuko, baby.” And he didn’t even have the leather jacket on yet! Fuck, how was she meant to survive that? “Except...” Chelsea teased, getting her fingers under the strap of his wristwatch and unfastening it for him. Danny Zuko wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a watch, right? Because he was a quintessential bad boy. 

Hmm. Interesting. “You’re not a bad boy like him, though. Are you, baby?” Chelsea asked in an innocent whisper. “You’re a good boy.” Her good boy. Hers. Elliot was a quintessential good boy! She cupped his face, watch still in hand, and leaned in to kiss him. 

She lost herself in him for a minute. For a handful of minutes... who knows? Chelsea wasn’t counting. She was too busy moaning into his mouth, dragging his lip back with her teeth, breathing him in. She pulled back from their light make-out session; ready to roll on top of him and straddle his hips when she saw the watch, still digging into the side of his face. Saw the time on the watch—the numbers on the clock making her jolt upright on the bed. Made her jump to her feet. “Oh my god, we’re going to be so late!” She took back what she said before: he was not a good boy! He was a very, very bad boy. “Elliot!” Chelsea whinged. Lightly smacked his chest, playfully angry. As if it was only his fault. “I still have to get dressed and do my hair and my make-up and—crap, I was meant to do your hair!” Yeah, swear jar. Whatever. They didn’t have time for technicalities! 

Shit, shit, shit. “Okay, okay, okay.” Chelsea mumbled, pacing back and forth in front of him, in front of the bed. “Okay, leave your hair! You look perfect, baby. And I’m... I’m too emotionally fragile right now... I don’t wanna, like, not be able to touch your hair the entire night just because it’s gelled back.” And that would save them time, too! His hair was too long and sexy to look like something out of the 50s, anyway. It was perfect long and fluffy and curly, thank you. Freshly cut! It was a comfort for her, running her hands through his hair. She couldn’t exactly do that if it was slicked back and full of gel, could she! Chelsea only liked one part of Elliot being rock hard, and it certainly wasn’t his hair. That solved one problem, at least.

Chelsea reached behind her back, unhooking her strapless bra and hurling it at him. “Take that for me, will you, baby?” She bit away a smirk. Yeah, that might’ve been a little mean. Oopsies. Hey, she didn’t need to wear a strapless bra anymore if she wasn’t wearing the Bad Sandy costume—he was doing her a favour! She was rushed for time. “I’ll be back! I’ll be quick, I promise!” She only needed a light layer of make-up. Nothing too dark like she'd been planning to do to compliment the leather catsuit. “You know how fast I can be.” She giggled. Too far? Chelsea shrugged her shoulders, skipping off toward her closet. Her bare ass bounced with all the extra baby weight.  

She retrieved the garment bag with the cheerleading uniform from her wardrobe. A matching red bra and panty set; all silk and lace. And speaking of matching... Chelsea rolled onto her tiptoes, fetching the leftover ribbon from Elliot’s birthday present last year. The red bow. It was a little thick for her hair, but she could be quick and crafty with it. Had slowly been using it up all year, wrapping the leftover pieces around Elliot’s gifts on Christmas and his birthday. Anything to get a reaction out of him. It was one of their things. This was just another golden opportunity! She grabbed some socks, her pair of stilettos, and threw everything over her arms to scurry back out of her closet. Threw a “no peeking, Elliot!” over her shoulder before retreating to the bathroom to get ready.

It took a good fifteen minutes to get everything done. Make-up, another stick of deodorant, a spritz of perfume. Her hair half-up, half-down; secured with a relatively large red bow at the back. The cheerleading uniform was definitely the superior costume choice: the baby bump was a lot less noticeable, thank God. There, if she pressed her hands against her stomach—but with the way the fabric of the skirt naturally sat, she had to squint to see it. Good enough. The skirt was similar to her maid’s costume, with a layer of white lacey frills underneath the cotton. Chelsea knew Elliot would like that! She grinned. Her socks matched: white, with a ruffled trim on them. Chelsea had to sit on the edge of the tub to slip them on. Tried strapping her heels around her feet and failed, almost falling back into the bath. Flailed her arms out to regain her balance. Oops. Yeah. She needed Elliot.

“Take two!” Chelsea announced, emerging from their ensuite and closing the door behind her. She had her heels in hand, hanging by the straps. Needed his assistance. She crossed the room and walked over to him, flirty smile stretched across her lips. “Better?” Needed Elliot’s approval.  

#elliot #elliot 31 #interaction #so whats messier CHELSEA OR THIS REPLY????? ‎😃

[chelseaheskett]

👑 ROYAL PLAYING 👑

#chelsea #elliot #elliot 31 #fashion #misc #ROYAL PLAYING!!!!!!! 👑 #~

[chelseaheskett]

elliotholt​:

Chelsea tugged at his hair, testing out her handiwork. Making sure that it was up to her very high standards. Measuring the length with her fingers, tugging at the ends so that he could feel it all the way to his roots. So he knew who he belonged to, as if he would ever forget. She called herself his hairdresser and he nodded, enthusiastic. Yeah, he would never go back to a salon now; the next time he needed a trim, Chelsea would be the first person he went to. The only person, in fact. She grinned against his mouth as she pulled him into a kiss, perfectly rough and possessive. Claiming. Yeah, he belonged to her - haircutting and sex and everything in between.

And there was nobody else he’d rather be completely and utterly consumed by. With Chelsea it felt right. It felt natural. Like it was always meant to be this way.

He wanted to agree with her, completely hand himself over to her, but he never got the chance; her hand in his hair pulled him into a hard kiss and she took everything she wanted anyway. Gave it to her with all the eagerness he could muster, grinning into her mouth, into the kiss. Held tightly enough onto her hips that he could practically feel the marks his fingers were leaving behind. That was fine. That was good! As far as Elliot was concerned, they should always leave marks on each other. So they never forgot who they belonged to. So everybody else knew who they belonged to. He would happily wear a dog collar proudly proclaiming that he was property of Chelsea if it came down to that. He wanted the whole world to know that he was hers, wanted everyone to look at him and knew who owned him completely. There was no one else he’d rather hand everything over to than her. She was his everything and he gave her everything in return. It seemed only fair.

Her hand slid down his chest, already slick with sweat, finding her prize as she wrapped her fingers around him. He groaned, hard and loud somewhere in the back of his throat, and tried to chase after her when she pulled out of their kiss to catch her breath. He settled on pressing sloppy kisses to her neck, her collarbone, anywhere he could reach while distracted by the incredibly talented work she was doing with her hands. God, she was so good at that. So good with her hands. It must’ve been the artist in her. The hairdresser. His hairdresser. Fuck. He was so in love with this woman that he couldn’t handle it sometimes. She called him sexy and he didn’t hesitate to nod his head, like he couldn’t do anything but agree with her. Everything sounded so right coming out of her mouth, especially when she said it in that harsh, heavy voice. Aroused, blown away. He would agree to anything when she said it like that. 

“So are you,” he said in return, his voice sounding tinny and far away to his ears.

She gave him one more good, hard kiss, before she started to stand up. He whined, trying to tighten his grip on her hips so that she couldn’t go anywhere. “Noo,” he whined, easily losing hold on her with their wet skin. Where was she going? They were just getting to the fun stuff! All their clothes were gone, there was nothing between them but their own self-control. Why was she putting distance between them? He pouted at her, over-dramatic and over-the-top, making grabby hands at her until she sat back down. Facing away from him, this time, but he didn’t care what direction she was facing so long as she was back in his lap. He sighed, relieved, nuzzling his face into her neck as she eased him inside of her. Phew. That was better. That was much better. She was back where she belonged, he was back where he belonged and everything was right in the world. 

Both of his arms were wrapped around her waist, hugging her, holding her to him. So she couldn’t get away from him this time! So she couldn’t go anywhere until they were both filled and satisfied. She grabbed his hand and guided it up his body and he moaned happily into the skin at her shoulder. This was a very well-worn, well-traveled path for his hands and he didn’t need any extra coaxing to play with her breasts. It was nice to have the approval - a good boy always waited for permission, after all. And he was nothing if not a good boy. Her good boy. She leaned back against his chest and he leaned forward, trying to take in as much of her as he could. He only regretted that he couldn’t get his mouth around her nipple in this position.

His free hand roamed over her stomach, just big enough now for there to be a noticeable bump underneath his palm. No kicks, yet, just all of her smooth, warm skin. He was officially sterile, now, no more surprise swimmers, so he was going to enjoy every second of their freshly planted little Sunflower while he still had the chance. He was sure that Chelsea would be relieved to finally have a break from pregnancy, but he could be happy for her and sad for himself at the same time. It was a delicate balancing act. Now, though, he was just going to enjoy himself and not question why her growing bump turned him on so much. 

Fuck. Chelsea was perfect. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Radiant. Glowing. Stunning. Every other positive adjective that existed that he couldn’t name right now. All of the positive adjectives that hadn’t been invented yet. He loved her. He was so ridiculously aroused by her. This was just so typical for them - they were only a couple of rooms separated from their very awake children and her mother and that didn’t even stop them. They were stupid and reckless and depraved and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once he was done exploring the expanse of her stomach, his hand drifted further down, between her legs, his fingers dancing over her. In response, her hand made its way back into his hair, pulling on it hard enough to make him see stars. His fingers moved that much quicker, like she was controlling him and his movements through his hair. He was getting a little bit frantic and uncoordinated, lost in the sensory overload, like his brain couldn’t pick what it wanted to focus on. How warm and tight she was around him? The sound of her heavy breathing? The weight of her breast in his hand, already starting to fill out more thanks to the baby?

He wanted to feel it all, take it all in, but he didn’t have enough blood left in his head to make those kinds of decisions. Luckily, he had Chelsea. He always did. Alright, yes, he was quick enough on any given day to make short sessions a normal part of their routine. So common and expected it usually wasn’t even worth mentioning. And then she called him counselor and…well… Maybe it was just because he was used to hearing that in a professional setting, while he was wearing a suit and tie and faking his way through confidence and not while completely naked and vulnerable, whining into her neck like a desperate animal begging for relief. Maybe it was the way she said it, so in control and sure of herself. And, god, there was nothing he liked more than when she took control. His orgasm took him a little bit by surprise and he had to reach out to brace a hand against the counter so that they didn’t both go tumbling to the floor - he was not about to try and explain that to her mom.

It took a couple of seconds for the ringing in his ears to die down, for the room to come back into complete focus. “What did you just call me?” He laughed, more than a little breathless, the sound muted against her skin. “And how do I get you to call me that again?”

Very quickly, it all became too much. His hand around her breast, stroking between her legs… His harsh, breathy moans hot against her neck… The way he released inside her, and surrounded her completely. Chelsea clenched around him, fast to follow. He braced a hand back on the counter and Chelsea reached behind her, digging her nails into his waist and riding out the waves of her orgasm. Threw her head back and arched into his touch; his fingers still mindlessly rubbing her off. Her hips rocked against him, frenzied and unpredictable, chasing the feeling until it faded and she collapsed back against his body. Went slack against him. With heavy eyes, she hid the side of her face in his neck, breathing in his scent and sweat. Tasting it on her tongue as she forced the air back into her lungs.

“What did you just call me? And how do I get you to call me that again?” 

Elliot moved to wrap his arms low around her hips, perching his head on her shoulder. Chelsea covered his hands with her own, hugging him back. Played with his fingers, gentle and thoughtless, biting down a smile. “You heard what I said…” She huffed, half-hard. Bordering on that dominant voice he loved so much. She exhaled and her nose whistled. “Counselor.” She tacked on, for emphasis—not as a reminder. Never that. Because he knew. And now he’d never forget. She could practically feel him twitch beneath her. Chelsea tongued her cheek, entirely too proud of herself. Slightly bobbed against him. “It’s my new nickname for you.” Each word was carefully chosen and articulated. Calculated. My new nickname for you, not your new nickname. Because nobody else was ever allowed to call him this. At least, not outside of a professional context. Like baby—it was hers and hers only. And so was Elliot.

She pointedly cleared her throat. “Any objections, counselor?” He sunk his teeth into the skin at her shoulder. Chelsea stifled a moan and nuzzled into his hair, slightly matted with sweat now. Sweaty and curly. She grinned until her cheeks ached. Continued to measure out the length of his fingers with her own, soft and delicate despite the heat of her words. Chelsea loved the lawyer talk. It always got a reaction out of her, always got her going. Now he could have a taste of his own medicine! And it wasn’t just the lawyer lingo, either! She had a thing for him in the uniform, too—the three-piece suits he wore on the days he went to court. The patterned ties she’d straighten out and adjust for him the mornings before work. His cute little briefcase, and wristwatch, and the tight trousers that showed off his even tighter ass. God. When was the last time she’d gotten the chance to eat him out good and proper, huh? It’d been far too long. 

Fuck, he drove her crazy. Without even trying! And it extended beyond him being a lawyer, even—his coveralls, from his time as a full-time mechanic, were quite literally one of her most prized material possessions. No clothes at all were always an option, having him model for her whenever she wanted him to. Naked and tied up and spread out in front of her camera. And they’d been playing dress-up all week. Role playing. Calling him counselor was rooted in reality—it wasn’t fantasy, it wasn’t exaggerated or sexually heightened. It was just… real. She couldn’t think of anything sexier. He was sexy. Effortlessly so. And no costume or act or fantasy version of him was better than that. It could never compare to the real deal! She didn’t need an alternate universe, with a different meeting point or trajectory for their relationship... she only needed now, with him. Everything she already had. All she wanted was Elliot in all his glory. With all his insecurities and scars and flaws. He was perfect just as he was! A lawyer and a father and a husband and the absolute love of her life. 

It didn’t mean it wasn’t fun, though. If anything, they’d had too much fun this week. And Chelsea had loved it. A day without sex was always a rarity for them. Had been like that ever since moving into the house in May; finally breaking their four-month-long bout of abstinence to christen their bathroom. And bedroom. And living room. All on their wedding anniversary, too! It was funny how things worked out. The point was, their sex life was more than healthy. Some would argue that they probably had too much sex, if there ever was such a thing. But sometimes they needed to try something new together. Experiment. They’d done it once before, a couple of weeks back; Elliot standing in his coveralls in the kitchen and offering to service her. Bending her over one of their favourite spots on the kitchen counter. Elliot made her laugh and break character, talking about no extra charge for this service. This one’s on the house. Yeah, that had been a fun night. And Chelsea didn’t stop the charade until she was deemed his favourite customer. Customer satisfaction, and all that. I would hate for you to leave me a bad review, he’d said. She didn’t stop until he’d made a mess out of his pants. Got him to come on cue, rubbing him off over his coveralls. They’d gotten even more adventurous than that this week. More serious. Severe punishment for any misconduct. 

It started with a shopping trip for Macy and Amy’s birthday party. Chelsea had to go to the costume place all on her own during the day while Elliot was at work. She was an impulse buyer. Always had been, always would be. A spoiled only child, always getting whatever she wanted. And it was The Pleasure Chest and Victoria’s Secret for date night all over again—going completely overboard and picking out too many options for outfits. Elliot wasn’t around to give her his opinion, and she couldn’t bug him over text or FaceTime while he was in court, so she went a little crazy. They had a 30-day return policy! It was fine! The only criteria she had for choice was something matching, otherwise Elliot gave her his full confidence and trust. “Whatever you like best, baby. I trust you.” He should know never to give her free rein, at this point, but he always did anyway! Her precious husband. She loved him more than anything. She loved him so much that she left the store with 5 costumes each, and a very long receipt. She shoved it in her purse and hauled them all home. Yeah, it was fine.

She didn’t get around to hanging them all up in her closet until later, when the kids were already down and out for the night. Chelsea had thrown them across the bed and forgotten about them as soon as she’d come home from the store. She was in her PJs, sorting through everything, when Elliot shuffled on into their bedroom. He’d been loading the dishwasher and cleaning up where Chelsea hadn’t gotten the chance to yet. The cleaning never seemed to stop in their house—not with five kids, anyway. Four under four, for crying out loud. He put his hand on her back in passing, comfortable and chaste. Chelsea glanced over at him, smile brightening up her expression; happy now that he was here. Ready to start their sleep routine. 

“Oh, that costume’s sexy.”

But Elliot was raking his eyes over her pyjamas—pinching the blue ribbed cotton between his fingers. Chelsea shook her head, amused. Grinned. “Baby, I’m not wearing a costume yet.” Affectionately thumbed his forearm. He’d found the top button on her shirt and loosened it. Naturally. Chelsea tongued her teeth. “But here, look at these!” She gestured down to the last couple of costumes spread out across the bed sheet. Held up the maid outfit by the coat hanger, so he could see it in all its glory. His matching prince costume, red (of course), with a sash and cheap plastic medallions, remained on the bed. Chelsea looked between them, hoping he’d follow her gaze. “Like Downton Abbey!” Hoped he’d follow her line of thinking, with the storyline between that one maid and Lord Grantham. They’d hated it when it happened, practically screaming at the TV together when it did. Didn’t mean it couldn’t be repurposed for their own pleasure! They deserved it, after sitting through another stupid cheating storyline. And sure, Lord Grantham wasn’t a prince, but they’d had almost the exact same costume in the Christmas special for another character on the show, so! When Chelsea saw it at the costume shop, she couldn’t not grab one in Elliot’s size. 

They’d been all about historical British television shows lately, for whatever reason. She wasn’t sure why. The Crown had the same sort of outfit, too—the show they started once they’d finished Downton. More royalty and high society. And Isaac and Vanessa were currently obsessed with Frozen. It played on a loop during the day, over and over. Constantly repeated. And honestly? Elliot looked like a fucking Disney prince. Cuter than Kristoff, for sure. He could thaw her frozen heart, lickety-split. Huh. Maybe that’s why she’d gravitated toward the costume in the first place. Elliot deserved to be worshipped like royalty, in her eyes. She’d drop to her knees and bow down to him. Do anything he wanted her to do. Serve him however he so pleased.

The sexy maid costume was an obvious choice for Chelsea, given how much she loved to clean. It came with a feather duster and everything! She loved a good accessory! Chelsea trailed a finger over the ruffled lace of the skirt. The corseted bodice. 

“Oh, yeah, when can I fuck you in that?” 

Chelsea giggled, bumping her nose against his shoulder. His interest had shifted, at least. “I was thinking about wearing the maid costume to the party.” She turned the hanger to hold the outfit up against her body. A little preview for him. “What d’you think?” There was a white frill over each breast cup of the dress, and Elliot slowly lined over it. Chelsea grazed her teeth over her bottom lip, watching his hand movements.

“You want to wear the sexy maid costume to the party?” Chelsea tilted her head to the side, excited eyes flitting across his face. “Only if that party is in our bedroom!” 

Oh. That was an idea. Chelsea couldn’t really blame him—they didn’t call it a sexy maid outfit for nothing. It was practically lingerie. All lace. It even came with a garter! And Chelsea had a pair of fishnet stockings somewhere that really needed to be put to good use. Really needed to be put to work. Chelsea laughed, airy and light, and tossed the coat hanger back onto the bed. Her costume on top of his. “Hey baby, can you do a British accent?” She asked, almost out of the blue. Sounding random, but eager; the dimples denting the sides of her smile.

“Probably not a good one.”

“Mm. We’ll see about that.” 

“Your Highness.” Chelsea greeted him with a raspy voice; a curt acknowledgement while she dusted his nightstand. Elliot was sitting on the edge of the bed, pretending to read a book—it was upside down, but she didn’t want to point it out to him. Couldn’t dare question the Prince of Pasadena, now could she? Her, a lowly maid, sweeping through his bedroom. She hid a smile with the top row of her teeth, keeping in character. 

The corset of the costume was tightened around the slight swell of her pregnant stomach, but it wasn’t restricting. Chelsea felt sexy. It came with the territory, huh? She’d found the fishnets in her closet, and kept them up with the lace garter fastened around her thigh. The material itched a little, because it had been her bright idea not to wear any underwear underneath the outfit, but she figured it wouldn’t be on her body for very long. Panties weren’t needed for such strenuous activities! As well as the feather duster came a classic maid’s headband with the costume set, bows on either side. Chelsea had her hair up and out of the way, headpiece fixed with bobby pins. Wore black stiletto heels. She looked the part! Felt the part, genuinely cleaning as she went. Who said sex couldn’t be multi-purposeful? 

She brushed over his lamp shade. Could feel his eyes on her, but she pointedly ignored him. Kept to the task at hand. “Interesting read, Your Highness?” Chelsea asked, innocently chiding him. Elliot knew the weight of the word interesting. She cleaned over the surface of his alarm clock, nibbling on her lip. 

“Indeed.” He replied in a thick British accent. Probably not a good one, my ass! He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and he hadn’t bothered to flick over any of the pages of his upside down book, but it worked. He trailed his heated gaze over her body, over her costume. “These are important... royal documents...” Chelsea knocked the head of the feather duster against the side of his nightstand, ridding it of dust particles. Some sort of provocation; making a hard, sturdy noise. Knocking on wood. With the duster clean, Chelsea set her sights on Elliot. He definitely looked the part in his prince get-up. She’d helped him into it, and she couldn’t wait to get him out of it. Do something obscene with that royal blue sash hanging over his shoulder. The inclination was there to call him gorgeous. Her sexy husband. Her usual party lines. She kept her mouth shut, still gnawing on her bottom lip. Couldn’t break composure. It didn’t mean she couldn’t touch him though, right?

Chelsea swept the duster over Elliot’s shoulder. Cleaned him like he was part of the furniture. He was stiff, like he was trying with all his might not to break character. Not to reach out and just grip her hips in his hands. She flicked the duster over the bare skin of his neck, trying to force a reaction. Trailed it up to his jaw, to his ear, fluffing it over the top of his head. Elliot giggled. Squirmed, a little. Fuck. He was ticklish. She’d almost forgotten about that. Almost. 

“Are you ticklish, Your Highness?” 

“Noo.” Accent still strong, but his voice slightly breaking. Straining.

Chelsea brushed the feathers over his throat, slotting between his open legs and standing directly in front of him. “His Highness has a weakness.” A statement, not a question. Elliot looked ready to concede. His shoulders were shaking with laughter, the book left abandoned on the mattress. Deep lines around his mouth. The dip in his chin prominent. 

“God, where did you get this from, though?” Elliot dropped the accent, sounding like himself, and chuckled. Lifted his hands to trace over the curve of her waist. Asking her silly, silly questions when he was sitting there, literally clad in a prince’s costume. Breaking character, and thus, breaking the rules. He knew that carried a heavy penalty around here! Chelsea flipped the duster in her hands, holding the feathered end and whacking the hardened handle against his forearm. A warning shot. Gave him a look. Touching was fine—this wasn’t that sort of game! It was dropping the charade that she took issue with. 

But Elliot liked being punished. He was silly, but he wasn’t stupid. Her silly husband. She loved him so much. He broke immersion again. “You should wear that around the house when you clean.” Said without the accent and accompanied by a cheeky grin. Chelsea raised her eyebrows, because while it was a valid suggestion, it wasn’t allowed! Silly, silly baby. She pressed the handle of the feather duster flush against his throat, threatening to cut off his air supply. He responded by getting his hands up under her skirt. Under all the ruffled lace. His fingers skimmed over the pattern of the fishnet stockings, mapping them out. Chelsea's breath was trembling, as if she was the one being choked. He caressed over her, over the fabric. The stockings were pulled up to her ribs, hidden behind the corset, so he couldn’t access it that way. He tore through the material instead, the sudden ripping sound making her gasp in surprise. She bucked forward on instinct. 

“Oh, you’ve made such a mess, Your Highness.” Chelsea said, panting. Slowly trailed the handle of the duster down his fully clothed chest. Smacked it firmly against his abdomen, knowing he could take the hit. Urging him to continue with the character. If he knew what was good for him, he would. 

Once Elliot caught his breath back, he got the accent going again. “Good thing you’re such an excellent maid then, huh?” His thumbs were rubbing circles into her exposed skin, touch edging upwards.  

“You’ve really gotta learn how to keep your hands to yourself, Your Highness.” Chelsea tossed the duster onto the bed, alongside his forgotten paperback book, and caught his wrists in her hands. Shoved them away from her body. Proper punishment. “Let me help you with that.” A smirk spread across her face. 

She unhooked the button at his shoulder, holding the sash in place. Yanked it up and over his head. The plastic medallions clinked together. Elliot leaned back on his hands, watching her go to work. The middle buttons were next. Chelsea popped them, one by one, slow as ever, to reveal his bare chest. Unfastened the gold belt around his midsection. She’d make him keep it on for the full experience. Left the two ends open before nodding to gesture him onto the bed all the way. Elliot complied, acting the servant, and pushed back onto the bed until his spine hit the headboard. He stretched his legs out, and Chelsea hiked her skirt up by the hem to get positioned on the mattress. Sat with her knees pressed on either side of him, the toe box of her high heels digging into the bed sheets. She straddled him and unzipped his trousers. He met her hand, at attention like a royal guard. Chelsea started to call him a good boy, but bit her tongue. No! He was a prince! Chelsea shuffled down his body, instead, distracting herself with untying his shoelaces. He was wearing the same shoes he usually wore for work. Same work pants, too. He was just lucky she couldn’t see his ass right now. Lucky it hadn’t met the butt of the feather duster yet. Yet.

Forsaking her duties, Chelsea flung his shoes into the abyss of their bedroom. Tugged his trousers all the way down his legs and tossed those, as well. “Miss, are you making a mess? Tsk tsk.” Elliot's mouth was gaping open, playing the part of the disgraced royal. “What would the king think about this?” 

“Fuck the king.” Chelsea retorted, headstrong. Did that count as keeping in character? She shrugged. And swear jar rules didn’t apply in the bedroom! Or in their little role play fantasy. 

Now that that was settled! She worked her way back up his body with the sash in hand. Chelsea sat on his lap, straddling him again. Brought his wrists together and raised them above his head, against the iron bars of their bed. She used the sash to bind his hands to the headboard in a royal knot (thanks for that one, Dad!). The medallions chinked together, but at least he had something to fidget with! Something to touch, since she was now out of reach, and he was suddenly indisposed. “You royals are just so used to getting everything you want, huh?” Chelsea teased, feigning exasperation. Drew out an exaggerated sigh. The help saw it all. Saw everything. 

Somebody needed to teach this spoiled royal a lesson. 

Now that he was restrained, Chelsea swung her legs over the edge of the bed to leave. Déjà vu—something she always seemed to do whenever she got him tied up. Chelsea wandered over to her side table, swiping her camera up into her hands. Swished her skirt around. She removed the lens cap and crawled back onto the bed. Crawled back on top of him. Chelsea squinted into the viewfinder, snapping a couple of quick photos of him. Elliot blinked past the camera flash. 

Chelsea leaned the side of the camera against her cheek, considering. “I should send these to the press. It’d be a royal scandal... you all tied up like this.” Now who was all powerful and mighty, huh? “What would the people think?” Chelsea gasped, pretending to be apalled. She brushed the flaps of his shirt open more, exposing more of his body. Took some more shots. Got some close-ups of his dick in frame. Of his hands straining against the silk of the sash. “You’re in big trouble, mister.” No more Your Highness, because now Chelsea was the one in charge. Funny how that always happened.

“How can I serve you?” Elliot looked a little cross-eyed. His chest was rapidly rising and falling. “I will do anything you want.” He pleaded in his sexy British accent. 

“Anything?” Chelsea repeated, intrigued.

Exchanging sex for her silence. Some form of blackmail, in their completely consensual role play fantasy. Chelsea’s eyebrows shot up, suggestive. Set her camera on his nightstand for safekeeping and ran her hands down his chest. “Would you look at that...” Chelsea mused, sighing wistfully. “A humble servant with the prince entirely at her mercy.” And this had practically all been foreplay. She sighed, making well-travelled path down to his crown jewels. Gingerly wrapped her fingers around him. Sloppy, unconcentrated strokes. Used her other hand to comb through his hair, because God, it’d been so long since she’d last touched it. The curls spilled over his forehead, his chin tucked to his chest, breathing heavy as she jerked him off. Just enough to get him ready. To tease him some more. 

When was the last time she’d kissed him? Chelsea leaned down to kiss him square on the mouth. Soft and delicate. A complete contrast to her handiwork. “I hope you know that this is my castle now, sir.” She murmured, rough, tilting her forehead to his. Chelsea lowered herself against his hips. Took him in completely. Her lips parted in a drawn out moan. She smiled around it, and steadied her hands on his shoulders to get a rhythm going. Burrowed her nails into the fabric of his prince costume. 

Instead of focusing on her, and the way she was grinding down into his lap, Elliot was fidgeting with his restraints. Distracted because the silk of the sash didn’t dig into his skin like it usually would. Whining over the lack of pain instead of whining over her wet and tight around him. He wasn’t struggling to get to her, but struggling to make it hurt. And that hurt Chelsea. She couldn’t have that! Couldn’t not have his entire attention. That’s not how this game was going to play out. Chelsea slowed her roll and stopped her hip movements. Released her grip on his shoulders to line over the sash sliding over his wrists. It was only then that Elliot bucked up into her. Oh, so now he was paying proper attention, huh? Too bad. Chelsea clenched around him, because she was only human, but stayed still. Yanked on the sash to feel how much give it had. It was tightly bound around his wrists, but the material was soft. Made out of some sort of artificial and cheap silk. It didn’t cut the same way that the leather restraints did. And that wasn’t good enough for the Prince, huh? Talk about a royal scandal... His Highness was kinky. Kinkier than her photographs for the press would let on, apparently.

Chelsea plumped her lips out in a pout. Sarcastic, almost. Used the back of her hand to lightly caress his cheek. “Oh, you poor baby. This isn’t rough enough for you?” Mocking him. All royal titles and social hierarchy out the window and forgotten. Poor baby didn’t deserve such formalities. Elliot had been doing so well in playing his part, too—but now he was just being himself again, only half-dressed in a Prince’s costume. Acting submissive, small; hitting her with sad and shining eyes. So bright and blue that it was hard to stay on task and not get completely lost in them. Fine. She’d give! His outfit had gold rope fastened under one of the shoulder pads. Even if he’d basically broken character, Chelsea was happy to stay on theme. Use all her available resources, like a servant would. She noosed the rope around his neck. Held his gaze, asking for his consent and approval with her eyes. Elliot nodded. Grinned.

She tugged the rope hard. Kissed him and stole the rest of his breath. He wheezed into her mouth. No matter how rough he wanted it, or how dominant she let on, his safety always came first. Nothing was more important—nothing mattered more. Not sex, not her fantasy role play. Nothing. She eased up on her grip around the rope and leaned away from the kiss, lips smacking together. Checked in on him, eyebrows pulling together in concern. Eyes flitting all over his face. Elliot nodded again, urging her to continue. Chelsea sharply exhaled, momentarily relieved, and pecked him on the mouth again. Rocked into him, drawing the golden rope tight around his throat. He responded with wordless moans and frantic hips thrusting up to meet hers. Chelsea smiled. Much better. “Ugh, good boy.” Did that count as breaking character? Whatever. From Your Highness to mister to poor baby to this. Full circle, like the rope around his windpipe, marking his skin red. Red like his royal costume. 

He was her kingdom. “This is my throne.” She declared, almost an afterthought, and fucked him still fully dressed in her sexy maid outfit. 

He’d been the one to surprise her with more the next night. Chelsea was in her pyjamas again—button-up and covered in cheetah print this time. She’d had to coax Luca back to sleep with some breastmilk. Wonder where he got that from... And speak of the devil! Elliot was standing by the bed in a fucking cowboy hat and chaps by the time she made it back downstairs. Assless chaps, with only a thong on underneath. The chaps and matching vest were all brown and velvet to compliment the hat, and he had a red bandana tied around his neck. Chelsea immediately slapped a palm over her mouth to muffle her laughter. Her bewilderment. He was petting a plush toy horse in his hands. It was Jack’s. Was. He’d never be seeing it again after this, she was sure!

“Hey there, cowboy.” Chelsea greeted him with a giggle.

Elliot tipped his cowboy hat, cordial and completely in character. “Welcome to my ranch.” Was that a fucking Southern accent? Oh God. Arousal stirred deep in the pit of her stomach.

It wasn’t much of a ranch, honestly. One toy horse, a waistcoat, the chaps, the bandana, the cowboy hat. The costume didn’t come with a lasso, unfortunately! A whip, or a gun she could pantomime shooting herself in the head with, because Jesus Christ, he was so Goddamn hot. It’d been one of her impulse buys at the party store, simply for the fact that Elliot’s ass would look absolutely phenomenal in assless chaps, and she deserved to see that at least once in her lifetime. Tonight was the night, apparently! Her life was well and truly blessed. Chelsea circled him, impatient to see the view. It did not disappoint. The string of the thong was wedged between his ass cheeks, and Chelsea wanted to touch him so fucking badly. Was she allowed? Please? Chelsea reached a hand out, lacking in self control, but quickly retracted it when Elliot spoke up again in his Southern twang.

“Would you like to learn how to ride the horses, ma’am?” He spun around to face her and gestured to the plush horse in his hands. Continued to stroke its fake fur. 

Chelsea pretended like she hadn’t just been caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Put her hands on her hips, straightening out her spine. Getting her head in the game! “Oh. No, thank you! I’m already quite good at that.” Manners, always. Even when playing a part. “Y’know... taming and controlling... horses.” Or something. A self-professed horse wrangler. A cowgirl in her own right. Despite the dizzy way she was feeling, and the way her skin was vibrating in anticipation, Chelsea said her words with conviction. Because Elliot loved it whenever she took control. She reined him in like a horse. Had him listening to her every instruction. Tamed and controlled. Look, it worked, okay? She went with it. 

“And anyway, I think I know something else I’d rather learn how to ride, instead.” As if she wasn’t a certified professional, at this point. She rode him to hell and back. In bed, on the bench in their shower, on the couch, on the deck in their backyard, everywhere. All the time. Constantly. Literally yesterday, playing out a Prince and Maid Pornhub plot. Best sex position ever, thank you. Chelsea sharply exhaled, her head spinning.

"There’s one stud here that can’t be tamed so easily... He might give you a challenge.”

“Are you willing to bet your chaps on that, partner?” Chelsea dragged her gaze down between his legs, where he was tight and hard against the crotch of the thong. Could she take that off with her teeth, please? Let him keep the chaps on the entire time? Wow, this outfit was joining the ranks. It hurt for her to breathe. Her fingers ached to touch him. She wanted to feel every single curve and line of his body under her skin, please. Please.

“Ah, I don’t know! I think this one—” Elliot waved the stuffed animal in the air for emphasis, “—might be pretty tough to break in.” 

“I’d rather break you in, cowboy.” Hurry up and get back in the saddle, as it were. She was needy and impatient. He knew this! She fiddled with the tassels on his vest, sliding her hands down his forearms.

But rather than caving to her advances, Elliot gasped. “Ma’am, what kind of ranch do you think I’m runnin’ here?” His mouth stayed open, downright appalled. Nothing but a good innocent Southern boy, offended by her use of language.

Instead of breaking him in as intended, Chelsea broke character. Threw her head back and loudly laughed, unrestrained and full. Almost peed herself, with her uncontrolled pregnancy bladder. Had to wrap her arms around his neck to keep herself balanced and upright. Leaned into him. “Come here, you.” She smothered her giddy laughter into his collarbone, pressing her body to his in a hug. “God, I love you! I love you so much, Elliot.” She peppered breathless kisses along his neck. Smiled into his skin. Couldn’t shake the laughter from her voice.

They swayed together, happy in each other’s arms. Elliot was chuckling now, too. “You broke character first this time!” He said, triumphant in his win. Admittedly, he didn’t get many! Chelsea would let him have this one. 

“Yes! Yes, baby! You got me!” She raised her hands over his shoulder, accepting defeat. What was her punishment, huh? She’d take it in her stride! Let him do whatever the hell he wanted to do to her. 

Her punishment was not being able to eat his ass, apparently. Fate was a cruel, cruel mistress. Elliot took his time unbuttoning her PJ top, following his finger work with his tongue sliding down the space between her breasts. He gently sucked on her nipple, still a little sore and sensitive after feeding Luca. His cowboy hat threatened to fall off his head, getting knocked askew from his face being right up against her body. Chelsea adjusted it, because if she didn’t get to eat him out she was making him keep the cowboy hat on. She was usually against hats on Elliot, or beanies—because why the fuck would she ever want to hide that gorgeous head of hair of his, huh? She was making an exception for this. The one and only exception, okay! 

Elliot rid her of her pyjama shorts and pair of panties. “My turn, please?” Chelsea poked her bottom lip out in a pout. Hit him with the wet, pleading puppy dog eyes, so he couldn’t deny her. Her plan was to get him out of the thong and have him keep the rest of the outfit on, but Elliot had already shrugged the waistcoat off his shoulders. Nodded down at his pants, letting her have the honours. She wasn’t exactly in the position to complain, having prematurely ended their role play. She took the punishment with grace, somehow manoeuvring the chaps down his body. Freed him from the thong. Her fingers were quivering when she went to untie the bandana from around his neck. Elliot helped her with it, his fingertips dancing over her knuckles, and the piece of cloth dropped to the floor with the rest of their clothes. 

She stopped him when he went to tip the hat off his head. “Noo. Keep it on.” Chelsea whined, batting her eyelashes up at him. Trying to tempt him. “Please.” Manners were never refused under their roof! And knowing her the hat wouldn’t stay on the whole time, anyway. She needed her hands in his hair more than she needed air to breathe, at this point in her life. 

Chelsea eased him down onto the edge of the mattress at the foot of the bed. A slight scene change from yesterday, up against the headboard. She pushed his thighs open and sat down on the carpet between his legs. A quick little apology for breaking character earlier. Chelsea caressed him with a hand, using the other one to finger over a vein. Followed it all the way along the length of him before taking him into her mouth. She’d finally gotten a good rhythm with her hands, with her tongue, when Elliot squeezed her shoulder to stop. Fine. No ass eating or proper blowjob, it seemed. There was always tomorrow, right! She held onto that hope, and picked herself up off the floor. 

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy?” Elliot said, short-winded. Just like the country song!

“Yes, baby! Exactly!” Chelsea giggled, eyes going small and squinty. She nodded in fast agreement and hooked her arms around his neck. Muted her laughter, and subsequent moans, into his mouth. The hat was halfway off his head again. Must’ve had his head tilted back when she was sucking him off. Chelsea happily fixed it for him upon pulling back from their kiss. She perched on top of his lap—knees on the mattress, legs hanging off the edge of the bed—and rode him. Rolled and rocked into his body, and kissed him passionately until their orgasms hit. The best part? The cowboy hat stayed on until they collapsed back against the bed sheets. And she could get her fingers around the hair at the nape of his neck, and violently tug, the entire time. Elliot might’ve won the battle, but Chelsea had won the war!

“Yeehaw!” They said, practically in unison, when they recovered. Soulmates, through and through. Elliot twisted his wrist in the air, spinning around an invisible lasso to pull her into another kiss. They burst into laughter again. Chelsea tangled their legs together, laying the wrong way across the bed. Put her tongue back in his mouth, breathless and dying from sex and laughing and making out. 

Mid-kiss, Elliot dropped the cowboy hat on top of her head. Chelsea drew back from his face and slowly, blissfully opened her eyes. Dazed and a little confused. The brim of the hat shadowed half of his expression, but his grin was bright as day. Made her feel warm all over. Was this her gift for being such a good horse rider? She purposefully brushed her bare calf against his, eventually hitching a leg up over his hip. Had a feeling she knew where this was headed. This wasn’t her first rodeo. “You know, ma'am,” Elliot started, Southern accent back in action. His fingers splayed out over the back of her thighs, tickling her skin. “I think I know something else you might want to ride.” 

“Yeah?” Chelsea couldn’t help but giggle, bubbly as ever. Eyes squinted and small but lit up with excitement. She let her laughter fade into his mouth, kissing him again. Held her hat secure with a hand and rolled them over in a single swift movement. Once they were back where they belonged—Chelsea on top, and with Elliot’s back pressed into the mattress—she broke away from their kiss and got up on her knees. Shuffled up the bed to hover her body over his face. Chelsea lowered herself down to his mouth, hand immediately straining in his hair when he met her with his tongue. Threw her head back in pleasure and held the crease of the cowboy hat with her free hand to stop it from falling, riding his face until she physically couldn’t anymore.

Wednesdays when they had custody of Jenny were usually afternoons dedicated to math homework. And since she wasn’t around, and Elliot was stuck late at work in a meeting with the partners, Chelsea had the whole night to herself. Her mom stayed for dinner, stayed later than usual, and helped put all the babies to bed. She curled up on the couch and watched Restoration Australia on Netflix, hand shoved into a bag of jellybeans, when Donna eventually went home. Chelsea palmed her little belly, and cried over house renovations. Wept over the old, retired couple that reminded her so much of her relationship with Elliot. Touchy and affectionate and teasing. So in love, even after so long a time together. More in love with the more time that passed, they said. It was the same. Chelsea felt the same way with Elliot.  

She missed him. Couldn’t wait for him to come home so they could cuddle and talk about their days and fall asleep in each other’s arms. Maybe fool around a little… 

Okay, definitely fool around. He deserved a little treat after a hard day at work! And getting dressed up for him faired a lot better than watching another episode, and crying some more on the couch. Especially after devouring the entire bag of jellybeans! She was empty-handed and bloated and sad. Lonely without her husband around. 

Wednesdays were dedicated to math homework, and Elliot was terrible at math. He needed to be educated. And Chelsea had the brains (and the beauty) to help him out with that! She could add personal tutor next to his personal photographer and masseuse on her list of hobbies. 

The school girl outfit was relatively easy to get sorted. The costume from the party place came with a plaid mini skirt, and a tank top, and a cheap tie, but Chelsea only cared about the skirt. She swiped one of Elliot’s dress shirts from his closet. It was huge on her, but that didn’t matter. Wore a white lacy bra underneath it, with the top few buttons undone to expose her cleavage. She tucked his shirt into her skirt and pulled knee high socks up her calves. Fixed clips on either side of her hair to hold it into two pigtails. She didn’t often wear g-strings, because chasing the kids around all day called for comfort, but Elliot’s initiative in wearing one the night before was inspiring. And while he described himself as a boob guy rather than an ass man, she knew he wouldn’t be opposed to the view. Would get a pleasant surprise when he lifted up her skirt to bend her over and fuck her. The thong was lacy, to match her bra, and even came with some ribbon that she tied off into a bow at the back. That was one of their things! It wasn’t red, but it’d do. She knew he’d appreciate it, regardless. 

She applied a light layer of make-up in the bathroom before she got the setting organised. Stole some supplies from Jenny’s room: a blank spiral notebook, some pencils, an eraser. A plastic ruler that seemed sturdy enough for their extracurricular activities. Chelsea set everything up at the head of the table in the breakfast nook. Popped a stick of gum in her mouth and started writing out equations on a piece of paper. They were simple enough. Middle school level! Fractions, division, algebra. He’d be fine.

Out of nowhere, Charlie jumped off the couch and padded toward the entryway to greet Elliot. The swish of his fur and the click of the front door alerted Chelsea to the fact that Elliot was finally home. She blew a bubble with her gum, mouth widening in a smile. Crossed her legs and sat, waiting for him at the table. The house was quiet enough—save for her racing heart and noisy breathing—that Chelsea could hear Elliot drop his keys in the bowl in the foyer. Hear his dress shoes sliding across the floorboards, walking further into their home. He had his suit jacket thrown over an arm and his briefcase gripped in his hand. He dropped it all with a loud thud once he saw her, standing in the doorway. Mouth parted in surprise. For a few moments, he didn’t move. Adjusted his pants and outwardly gawked at her, eyes darting all over her body. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so he had to get closer. Chelsea spun a pencil between her fingers. Cracked the gum in her mouth. 

“You’re late!” She chastised, her voice cut with his favourite kind of hardness. Chelsea smacked her pencil onto the table top, and Elliot crossed the room so fucking fast and eager that she had to aggressively bite on her gum to stay in character. “I charge by the hour, y’know?!” And tutoring was expensive. He couldn’t afford her, especially if he was tardy! She was practically calling herself a whore, but that was besides the point. The line worked! The comparison worked. Chelsea curled her fingers around the ruler and twirled it in her hand. 

Elliot might’ve been horrible at math, but he was an expert at slipping into his submissive role. A++. “I’m so sorry I’m late! I’m - I - Coach kept us back at practice.” He stumbled over his words, regretfully cast his eyes down. Oh, he got extra credit for that one. Her little star baseball player. They talked a lot about this fantasy—about what it would’ve been like if they’d met in high school. And they acted like stupid, horny teenagers all the time. Without even having to role play it! This was their chance, huh? Chelsea swiped her tongue over her bottom lip, gum poking out of her mouth. She fingered the length of the ruler. 

“You need to practice your fractions.” Chelsea said, antagonistic. Glanced up at him, her lashes thick with mascara. Heat behind her eyes. 

She dropped the ruler and stood up from her seat. His tie was crooked and loose, so she fixed it for him. He had to look the part, too! Wear his own uniform. Once the tie was tight enough to make him squirm, Chelsea took him by the shoulders and shoved him down onto the chair she’d been occupying. She’d been keeping it warm for him! She leaned over him, straightening out his makeshift desk, giving Elliot a nice momentary view of her breasts. Chelsea retrieved the ruler again and slapped it into an open palm. Paced back and forth by his chair at the table to add to the tension.

Elliot looked down at the workbook completely confused. Put the end of the pencil between his teeth, chewing on it. Chelsea pursed her lips and blew a bubble. Struck the end of the ruler against the table top to get his attention. A warning of things to come! “Well? Get to it!” She growled. “You don’t want to waste any more of my time, do you?” Chelsea used the point of the ruler under his chin to push his gaze up to meet hers. Elliot rapidly shook his head. Chelsea gave him a sweet smile, and removed the ruler. “That’s what I thought.” Elliot adjusted himself in his seat. Didn’t mean he got off scot-free, though! She had to make an example out of him! Once his hand was back on the table, she slapped his wrist with the ruler. “Don’t be late again.” The pencil fell from his other hand, and Chelsea raised the ruler again in warning. He fumbled to pick it up, like a good boy, and put his head down to work. 

The hits with the ruler didn’t stop there. She asked him to show his working out of each equation, explain it to her out loud. He got every single question wrong, and they weren’t even hard! Chelsea didn’t think they were very hard! He was, though. He was incredibly hard. Sat slightly pulled away from the table, legs wide apart. Bulging out of his trousers. Poor baby. For as much as he hated math, he was clearly enjoying himself. Enjoying this far too much.

Chelsea belted him on the thigh the next time he got a question wrong. Sighed, excessively annoyed. “Okay, okay... Maybe something a little easier then?” She mused, standing over him. Looked up at the ceiling, like she was deep in thought. Toyed with the ruler some more. “What’s 34 + 35?” Addition was easy. But, admittedly, it didn’t look like he had a lot of brainpower left. 

Completely adorable (and provocative), Elliot counted on his fingers. They were trembling, so she wasn’t sure how it helped, but it must’ve worked somehow because he answered correctly. “Uh, I - I don’t know? 69?”

Chelsea bounced on her heels, excited. “There you go!” She crooned. “That’s a good boy.” Almost told him she was proud of him, because under these circumstances she was sure to get away with it. She’d like to see him argue that right now.

Before she got the chance, Elliot interrupted her. “Wait, are you—seriously?!” He straightened up and gave her a look, genuinely astonished. Breaking out of character. 

Her nostrils flared. Did he want her to take back that good boy? Furrowing her eyebrows, Chelsea whacked the ruler against his backside. The sound of it made her jump. It was a hard blow. It forced Elliot to return to his submissive position, hunched over his work space. “Math is no joke, mister.” She declared. “Do I look like someone who would joke about math?” Chelsea leaned back against the table, reaching down to pull her socks up her legs. To give him another good shot of her breasts spilling out of his shirt. Wanting his attention on her body and her outfit only. “69 is correct! Good job, ba—” Shit, was she allowed to call him baby? Now she was slipping out of character, too! No! Nope. Chelsea covered up her mistake by blowing up a bubble. Tried to distract him with her lips parted and pursed around a piece of gum.

Math was no joke, but Chelsea really wanted to make one about 69′ing. Instead, she popped her bubble gum and snatched the pencil out of his hand, scribbling a large F on his piece of paper. Aggressively circled it. “1 out of 5. Do you know what that means? F?” Not fail, that was for sure. No matter how much he sucked at math.

Fuck, he nodded so fast. So enthusiastic and willing to please. A little whine vibrating against his throat. “You know, when you asked me to tutor you I thought you’d be a better student, Elliot.” Faux disappointment. “You’re eager to learn, but so, so easily distracted.” Almost to prove her point, Chelsea brushed the flaps of her shirt aside, giving him a better view of her chest. Elliot responded accordingly, eyes roaming over her cleavage. As if he was trying to memorise every strand of lace on her bra. “You’ve completely wasted my time! And for that...” She glanced down at him, solemn. Like she had no other choice but to punish him for his failings. Almost like she hated herself for having to do it. 

Chelsea struck the side of his ribs with the ruler and it snapped in half. Clattered to the ground. On instinct, she took a step back, high heels scratching on the hardwood floor. Oops. My, my, my. They’d been here before! Directly across from here, actually—breaking the wooden spoon over his ass in the kitchen. She swallowed her bottom lip, trying with everything that she had not to burst out into laughter. Elliot got to his feet, beating her to the punch and dropping the act. Yanked her closer with an arm pulling around her waist. 

“Can we please fuck now?” His breathing was shallow. Close to her skin. 

Chelsea hung her arms around his neck and clicked her heels together in celebration. “Yay, you got the bonus question right!” F for fuck. Something something about failing upwards. “You’re so smart, baby.” One of her many favourite phrases. It just rolled off the tongue so nicely! And it felt great being able to call him baby again. So good she didn’t even make fun of him for breaking character first. Chelsea hummed, content in his arms. His hands gripped her hips. She pressed her body flush to his, nuzzling his cheek with the tip of her nose. Blew hot air into his ear when she whispered, “your turn to teach me a lesson or two, huh?” Getting back into the swing of it. 

Elliot might’ve been late to get home, late to their little tutoring session, but there was no delay this time. He more than made up for it now. He switched their positions and flipped Chelsea around so she was facing the table. Bent her over the hard surface. Chelsea wriggled her ass in the air like she always did, inviting him to touch. Get up under her skirt. He hiked it up around her hips, immediately giving her ass a good squeeze. A squeeze and a hearty sigh of relief. Chelsea giggled. He was so desperate and so fucking cute. He lightly slapped her with the palm of his hand. Too bad they’d broken the ruler already, huh? It didn’t matter—Elliot’s hands were so fucking huge that they covered a large surface area whenever he spanked her. It was better than any utensil or tool or toy. And anyway, he seemed to have other ideas. 

He untied the bow at the back of her thong, and she could feel the panties loosen around her waist. “Better hurry before your mom gets home.” She teased over her shoulder, staying on theme. Elliot didn’t waste any more time: unzipped the fly on his pants and sunk into her, panties pushed to the side in haste. They moaned together. Met each other halfway, over and over again. Rushed thrusts, because they couldn’t get enough of each other. Chelsea swallowed her gum. Swallowed a scream. 

It was a shorter distance to the couch than it was to their bedroom. Not by a lot, but post-orgasm Chelsea didn’t have the energy or the feeling back in her legs to go any further. She dropped down onto the cushions and kicked off her heels. Elliot followed, stretching back against the arm of the couch. Slipped his shoes off, as well. Chelsea climbed on top of him to get at his tie. Make him more comfortable. Slowly worked on the buttons of his dress shirt next. “I stole your shirt, by the way.” She said with a lazy grin, suddenly remembering. They were matching! Perfect. 

Elliot palmed over her bra. “It looks better on you. I don’t have the assets to pull it off.” Chelsea smiled, comforted by his touch. He hadn’t gotten the chance to feel her up yet! He deserved such a reward for his patience. 

“Thanks, baby.” She mused. Let him reach under the lace to touch her skin. Hold her breasts in his hands.

Chelsea gave up on undressing him by the time his shirt was completely unbuttoned and open. Settled with her head on his chest, his heartbeat thrumming steady under her ear. She didn’t mind staying in her costume. She just wanted to cuddle her husband.

Damn, she could’ve fallen asleep like this. On the couch, resting on top of him. Chelsea pressed a soft kiss against his skin. Lifted her head to look up at Elliot’s face. “You just wanted me to hit you with the ruler, didn’t you?” She asked with a knowing, dimpled smile. 

“No, I’m legit just that bad at math.” 

Chelsea laughed, muting it against his chest. Cuddled even closer to him. “I love you.” Even if he was bad at math. Especially then.

“I love you too, baby.”

He started combing through her hair, slightly kinked from sweat and the pigtail clips. Yeah, screw it, she’d sleep right here. Didn’t care if he wrinkled his work pants, or if she still had a full face of make-up on. Her entire body felt heavy. She had to force her eyes open when Elliot spoke up again.

“About what you said before... I hope you don’t think I see you like that.”

“Hmm?” Chelsea hummed, craning her neck to meet his gaze. 

“The line about charging by the hour. I know we do all this sexy stuff but... you’re so much more than that to me. I cherish you so much. I love you for your beautiful heart and how good you are. I never want you to think it’s just about the kinky shit.”

Her eyes got small. Shiny with tears. “I know, baby. I know.” She reached up to cup his cheek, so he knew she was serious. “You’d plug my wound for me. You have. And that’s got nothing to do with sex.” He’d held off for months out of respect for her and her recovery after Luca. Helped her shower without any ulterior motive, without it being suggestive in the slightest. It was only ever caring and loving. Their relationship wasn’t built on sex, no matter how much of it they had! It was built on trust and connection and comfort! Love. Sex was simply a by-product of that. A way to express that love: constant and unfiltered and euphoric. Getting him off got her off. Made her feel powerful and sexy. He did that for her. Elliot did. Nobody else ever had before. And nobody else ever would. 

“I hope you don’t think that, either. That I just see you as like... a piece of meat, or something. Because I don’t. I love you. You. All of you. I’d be celibate forever if I had to. If it meant we just got to stay like this for the rest of time.” Chelsea snuggled into his chest for emphasis. “You mean everything to me, baby. I don’t call you a good boy just to get you going. I do it because you are. You are so good, Elliot. And I love you for you, not for the sex we have.” She rambled, a little. Sleepy and sweet and honest. Chelsea nuzzled her face to his chest. Flexed her toes through her socks, brushing them against his ankle. Stretched with a happy sort of sound. “Even if the sex we have is amazing.” She teased. Honest, again. 

He blinked back her words. Blinked back the tears. His fingers were so soft in her hair. He cleared his throat. “But I am kind of a piece of meat, right?”

Chelsea giggled. “Oh, absolutely.” She teased him in turn with a grin. “My piece of meat.” Because she could be possessive with the best of them! “It’s the same! I’ll be your whore, baby. Don’t you even worry about it.” It wasn’t derogatory, in her mind. Only loving. They were silly and stupid and so in love it was insane. 

She was his, and he was hers. Their laughter died down, and Elliot’s hands trailed under her shirt to unhook her bra. Loosened it for her. She still had his shirt on, half-buttoned up, but he tugged the bra down enough to free her breasts from the cups. Hid the snail tattoo on her ribs with lace and wire. The straps slid down her shoulders. It was too much effort to completely take it off, or the rest of her clothes. She was comfortable cuddled up against him. Sleepy. What little energy she had left was used to grab a cushion and prop it up on the arm of the couch to rest her head on, moving up Elliot’s body so he could get his mouth around her nipple. He suckled on her, and she thoughtlessly combed her fingers through his hair. They fell asleep for the night curled up together in the living room, partially clothed and completely blissed out. 

The following night, she handpicked his pyjama pants. Left them folded at the foot of their bed and stuck a post-it note on top. Wear these PJs tonight baby xoxo scrawled in her handwriting. They were a birthday gift: plain white cotton, pencil marks scrubbed off in the washing machine. It was the closest thing to a hospital gown she could find, spending the day on and off rummaging through his wardrobe. Through his dedicated drawers of pyjama pants. It’d been Jack’s bath time when Elliot got home from work, so he hadn’t gotten the chance to change out of his suit yet. Rolled up his sleeves and tended to their oldest son upstairs, because Jack refused anyone else but Daddy at bath time. Elliot looked in on her reading a story to Vanessa before she slept. Her mom was attending to Isaac in his bedroom. Luca sat in her lap, curling the edges of the pages between his little fingers. They all got quick kisses in passing, to say hello and goodnight. And then, with Jack’s insistent whining from out in the hallway, Elliot was gone. 

Vanessa fell asleep before the end of her book. Chelsea tucked her toy octopus under the blanket beside her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Luca got his fist caught in her hair, in her curls, but she was a heavy sleeper. Had to be bunking with Isaac for half of her life. Chelsea gently untangled Luca’s fingers around her hair, shushing him when he grunted in disapproval. Defiance. Grumpy little baby. He was next to be put to bed. 

The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar and Chelsea poked her head in. Elliot was sitting on his knees in front of the tub, rubbing Jack down with a washcloth while he splashed around in the water. “Elliot, baby, I’m just gonna get Peanut to sleep and then go take a shower. I’ll meet you in bed?” Chelsea shifted Luca higher up her hip. He fussed, reaching out for Elliot. Chelsea rolled her eyes, all affection, and walked him over to Elliot. Leaned them down so Luca could give Daddy kisses. She swatted Jack with some water while she was bent over, riling him up. “Dinner’s in the fridge.” Chelsea said, copying her son and kissing Elliot on the mouth. These days, she ate dinner early with the kids. Especially if she knew Elliot wasn’t going to get home from the office until after six. It gave her more time to gouge on dessert and sweets before bed. To go back for seconds and steal some of his food whenever he eventually ate. She was eating for two! What could she say! “Mediterranean salad with grilled chicken.” In case he was curious. It was something so simple that even Chelsea couldn’t mess it up. She grinned. “Have fun!” 

Luca took his sweet time getting to sleep. For once, Chelsea didn’t mind too much. The longer he took the more time it gave Elliot to get settled: put Jack to bed, eat his dinner, find her note and pyjama selection. Enough time for her mom to say goodnight and head off home. Plus, it gave her more time for her plan to come together! She didn’t actually want to shower. That came after the sex. She’d stashed her outfit in the bathroom, though. Tried to be strategic about it all. Her plan hindered on Elliot, too. Whether he got changed first, or whether he ate his dinner still dressed in his work clothes.

In the end, it didn’t matter so much. He was on the couch eating when Chelsea got back downstairs. Dressed in his suit still. He knew her so well that he could tell that she was hiding something. Chelsea wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning over the back of the couch. Her mouth lingered close to his face, peppering his cheek with kisses. “I’ll see you in there, babe.” She hummed, ready to get going.

“What are you up to?”

“What? Nothing!” Chelsea screwed up her face and waved him off. Quickly retreated before he read her expression and ruined the rest of the surprise. “I’ll see you in there.” 

She showered just to spite him. Dried herself off and kept the water running, so he didn’t get more suspicious. Chelsea used the extra time to curl her hair. Fix her make-up and pin the nurse’s cap in the right place. The accessories for this particular costume stopped there, unfortunately! She kinda wished she had a stethoscope or something. What else did nurse’s use? She rummaged through the cupboards, searching for anything extra to add to the plot. She’d already planted toys in her bedside table for easier access. Hmm. There was a box of wooden spatulas at the back, for when she could be bothered to wax instead of shave. She shoved a couple into the side of her bra for safekeeping. A substitute tongue depressor. It was basically the same thing anyway, right? Yeah. What else? Band-Aids, scissors? It seemed a little silly. Chelsea shut off the shower and buttoned up her nurse’s outfit. If the costume didn’t get her point across, she wasn’t sure anything would. 

She was grateful Elliot didn’t get any ideas of his own—didn’t try to shower with her, or come in unannounced to use the toilet. He was sprawled out on his side of the bed reading a book; the right way up, this time. Progress! He licked the tip of his finger to turn the page, and Chelsea made a noise simply at the sight of him. No shirt, plain white PJs, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Licking his finger like that was the last straw. Here she was, dressed up as a sexy nurse, and he was the one provoking her. And unintentionally at that! Ugh. Of course.

He must’ve been pretty absorbed in whatever it was he was reading, because he didn’t seem to notice or hear her accidental whimpering. Chelsea put her hands behind her back, acting professional and polite. Her high heels—white to match her outfit—dragged on the carpet as she approached him. “Is this the patient’s room?” 

Elliot pressed his hands into the mattress, propping himself up into a sitting position. Quickly forgot about his book. Didn’t bookmark it or dog-ear the page, just set it down closed on his side table without even looking, or seeming to process it. He was taking her in with his eyes. Tossed his glasses aside, too. Chelsea slipped a hand into her pocket, and the dress rode up. It barely covered her ass, and now she was sure he could see her choice in underwear. Red lace and practically see-through. The back didn’t even exist: assless, like his cowboy costume; suspended under each ass cheek with only a strap on either side. But he couldn’t see the back yet! She’d keep that a secret for later. Elliot reached a hand out to touch her, even with distance between them. 

“Please nurse! No other doctor can cure me. Can you?”

“Nurse Chelsea.” She corrected him. Wanted him to say it, because he always made her name sound so Goddamn sexy. Like it was his favourite word in the entire world. 

“What’s my diagnosis, Nurse Chelsea?” God, he just made all words sound sexy, apparently. Okay. Focus. 

Chelsea stood over him, holding the back of her palm against his forehead. Feeling his temperature. He was hot. Already starting to sweat. She brought one of her knees up to rest on the mattress, leaning over him to feel the skin at the back of his neck. Thorough. Ticking off a checklist in her head, like always. She had a job to do here! And it made her panties peek out through the gape in her dress, too. That certainly helped! Quality patient care, and all that. She glanced down at her chest, and she could feel his eyes drag up her body and follow her gaze. Chelsea stuck her hand into her bra, rummaging around until she found a wooden spatula. Lightly moaned in the back of her throat, knowing it’d drive him crazy. Touching herself and whining about it. The wood was warm in her hand. Chelsea smiled at him, doe-eyed and innocent. “Open wide, please!” She instructed him, hovering the tongue depressor close to his face.

Once Elliot obliged and parted his lips, Chelsea held his tongue down with the stick. Pretended to investigate the inside of his mouth. She was close enough to kiss him, and fuck, did she want to. Not yet, not yet. Soon! But what was the point of depressing his tongue, or whatever, if she couldn’t kiss him!? She was stupid and horny and this was not her area of expertise. “Say ‘ahh.’” She advised. Elliot made the sound, and his breath smelled like balsamic vinegar from dinner. He looked good enough to eat. “Hmm.” Chelsea wet her lips, already shining with a coat of strawberry lip gloss. First, though, she had to cure him of all that ailed him—then she’d get to that. Then she’d finally get to that.

Assessing his pulse was next on her mental checklist. She snuck the used spatula back into her bra when they were done with it. Knew that would drive him crazy, too. Elliot didn’t get too long to dwell on it, though, because she wrapped a hand gingerly around his throat. Pressed down on his neck with two fingers, finding his pulse point. It hammered away under the pads of her fingers. Even seemed to accelerate after a few beats. That was her good boy! Every reaction just added to her ego; just made her feel even more sexy and powerful. He had nobody to blame but himself for any of this.

“That’s an elevated heart rate, sir.” Chelsea declared, only slightly choking him. 

He recovered from it relatively fast. Batted his eyelashes up at her. “Is unbuttoning your uniform the first part of my treatment?”

Wow, he was so smart. And they were so stupid and utterly obsessed with each other. They’d been playing for, what? Three whole minutes? Chelsea didn’t even care, at this point. He could strip her off, and she could continue to try to stick with the script. It’d be fine. “Doctor’s orders.” She nodded at him, allowing him to proceed. Bit down on her lip, smiling hard. “I’m all about patient care. Whatever makes you feel better...” Almost called him baby again, like last time, but she managed to stop herself in her tracks. It was hard to form words when he started in on the buttons of her dress, anyway.

“Your bedside manner is impeccable.” 

She caught his wrists, halting his progress. He’d unhooked two buttons—enough to see all of her bra. Chelsea clicked her tongue. “Now, now, we wouldn’t want to increase the patient’s heart rate even further, would we?” Guided his hands over the lace cups of the bra instead, redirecting his touch. Completely contradictory to her previous statement. Elliot teased her nipple through the thin material. She didn’t let him get under it, though, or touch her skin directly. Her knee trembled on the mattress, and then she stopped him. Had to, because nurses were meant to look after patients, not the other way around! She dropped his hands in his lap and straightened herself up. The outfit still worked with a few of the buttons undone. The red underwear accentuated the trim on the nurse’s costume quite nicely, she thought. Chelsea tapped his thighs, making him stretch his legs out. Lie down properly, like he was on a hospital cot and not their king-size bed. 

“Okay, I used up all the doctor-y words I know, can we fuck now?” Elliot said, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. First to break again.

Chelsea followed suit, hiding her giggling with a hand clamped over her face. She nudged his legs over, a little, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Rubbed his thigh over his pyjama pants. Shook her head, amused. So in love. “I’m not done with you yet, baby.” Chelsea whispered to him, like the volume of her voice meant she wasn’t breaking character, too. The jig wasn’t up just yet! She cleared her throat and spoke up, this time. “It’s time for your physical, mister! I will now thoroughly examine you.” She smirked.

The examination started with her hands dragging down his chin, his neck. Over his chest, where she pinched his nipples. See if she got a reaction out of him. If all was normal. From there, her touch moved down, finding the scar that ran across his abdomen. She touched him tenderly, tracing the length of it with her thumb. Her finger lined over each muscle in his stomach. His rock solid abs. He needed to take her temperature next, because this was so hot. She felt a little under the weather: sweaty and short of breath. Light headed. Her hands went to the dips in his waist, drawing down until she hit the band of his pyjama pants. The V of his hips. How did he just look like this? All the time? How was he her husband? Jesus Christ.

Surprise, surprise, Elliot was hard! She stroked over his pants to get a better feel. Furrowed her eyebrows, deep in thought. Acting concerned. Chelsea took him into her hand through his PJs. “Hmm, this is an unusually large... appendage...” Yeah, he had a big dick, but she couldn’t just say that as Nurse Chelsea, now could she? It sounded appropriate, at least. 

“Who, me?” Elliot asked, acting innocent. Oh, he knew. After Luca, she hadn’t been scared about having sex again—physically—for no reason. He didn’t wriggle around like crazy whenever she sat on his lap on a chair or the couch for no reason, either. He was more than well endowed, thank you. She’d happily stroke his ego and his dick.

“Do you mind if I remove your pants for a further assessment? I need to examine the cause of this swelling.” Yeah, that sounded good. She was a great nurse, thanks! Medical professionals always asked for consent. And consent was sexy! Elliot nodded through a whine, unable to find his voice. Enthusiastic consent was even sexier.

Instead of tossing his pants over her shoulder, like she usually did, she neatly folded them in half and placed them on top of the mattress. Took her time with it to tease him, torture him. Dutiful as ever. She sat on the edge of the bed and curled her fingers around him. Used her other hand to massage his balls—under the guise of feeling for lumps, of course. Making sure everything was good and normal! Making sure that everything was working properly. “Clean. Reactive to touch. Above average length and width.” Chelsea listed off, pumping him faster with a loose wrist. Damn, what else would a nurse say? She wasn’t sure. She, too, had used up all of her doctor-y words. Chelsea focused on the task at hand. Elliot was close. Fucked into her fist and white-knuckled the blanket beneath him. She stopped only to spit into her open palm, gaining more traction. God, he sounded beautiful. Looked it. Eyes squinted but closed. Hair falling over his forehead. All the muscles in his stomach tensing and releasing. Elliot’s head tilted back into his pillow, and he came over her hand through a string of moans. 

“Patient was quick to reach climax.” Chelsea parroted, documenting her findings. Put her fingers in her mouth, cleaning him from her skin. Considered it, for a moment. “Sperm appears healthy. Tasty.” What was that yesterday about her not being a whore? Yeah. A blush crept up her neck, because for as much as she had progressed with her dirty talk and expletives, sometimes she still felt a little embarrassed and shy about it. Wondered if it sounded too crude, or if she’d gone too far. Said by someone in a sexy nurse costume. And lingerie. And a whole week of role playing up her sleeve. 

“Hah, that’s because it’s super sperm.” Elliot laughed, all air and no noise. Just heavy breathing and an amused grin. One look at him and all of her self-doubt disappeared. She giggled with him. It was one of their inside jokes! They were both fertile as fuck, for whatever reason. A vasectomy couldn’t even stop his super sperm! Even if her latest pregnancy was brought on by stupidity and simple misdirection, not exactly Elliot beating the odds of his sterilisation... Chelsea still blamed the super sperm! Had since day one. 

She licked her hand again, despite her earlier insecurity. Cleaned the rest of him off with a tissue. Balled it up and left it on his nightstand to dispose of later. “According to your chart, you’ve been sterilised, mister.” Chelsea said, gently reminding him. Elliot was out of it, post-orgasm. “Patient is a good boy.” And not just for coming over her hand. She was grateful to him for getting the snip and wanted to reiterate that. Even if they were here now, with their little Sunflower blossoming inside her belly. She was still grateful for the action—and for him, full stop. And she loved him so much it made her heart hurt. 

“Patient seems to be recovering nicely.” She commented, climbing on top of him. Straddling his hips. Yearning to be closer to him after a whole day apart. After hardly much touching. He gripped her waist with a toothy grin. Her treatment was a success! Could they kiss now, please? Chelsea leaned down to part her lips against his. Held his face in her hands and slid her tongue into his mouth. Elliot popped the rest of the buttons on her dress, but didn’t pull the outfit off her shoulders. Instead, he immediately went for her breasts again, running his hands over the lace of her bra. Tugging the cups down until he could tease her between his fingertips. Chelsea moved to sit up, and Elliot followed her. Had to keep kneading her breasts in his hands. Her head fell back in a moan. She braced her hands behind her to give him better access. 

He was just playing around with her, aimless and lazy. Relaxed, until he wasn’t, and she could feel him pressing against her backside again. Chelsea’s mouth fell open for an entirely different reason now, gasping dramatically. A twinkle in her eyes. “Wow, this is more serious than I thought.” She whacked his arm away from her chest and moved to sit in the space between his legs. He was hard again! And in record time! Elliot had the refractory period of a teenager, at this point: it was practically non-existent. Chelsea grinned, way too happy with this development. She crawled over to her nightstand to retrieve her equipment. “It requires our most aggressive treatment.”

“Where you going, baby?” Elliot hummed, moving onto his side. Propped his head up with a hand, elbow digging into the mattress, and watched her rummage through her drawer.

He was being out of character again! Chelsea shot him a look over her shoulder, but couldn’t help herself; breaking out into a fit of giggles. She was so in love that she couldn’t even care to chastise him for it. This time, at least. She was, admittedly, going easy on Elliot today! With the acting, anyway. Chelsea scrunched her nose up at him. Temporarily stopped her search to sit and admire him. “Gosh, I love you.” She exhaled, lips behind her teeth to clamp down on her laughter. He was so silly. So sexy. Could get away with anything, looking like that. Looking at her like that. Following her every move like a puppy dog and calling her baby. God, love was a fucking understatement. Chelsea shook her head—a little at him and his misbehaviour, but mostly at herself. To shake herself out of it. Focus. She still had a job to do!

“Ready, baby?” She sang, fishing out his favourite pink dildo and a bottle of lube. Waved the special equipment in his direction, so he could see. Take it all in before he had to literally take it all in.

Up on her knees, Chelsea shuffled over to Elliot on the bed again. Regained her composure, but her smile lingered. “Roll onto your stomach.” Chelsea twirled a finger, motioning for him to spin around. Once he was situated, she got back between his legs. They were already shaking and she hadn’t even done anything yet. Chelsea giggled again, absolutely giddy and high on life, and sprawled out. Kicked her feet out over the railing at the end of the bed. Finally. Finally. She used her hands to spread him wider and lined her tongue around his opening. Smiled against him. It felt like forever since she’d done this. Since the first time. Chelsea thought she’d improved! Because practice makes perfect. And she’d had a good time practising. Figuring out what he liked, what he preferred. She liked being choked, but this was a whole different sort of breathlessness that she craved. Her nose fit perfectly in the dip between his cheeks, and she nuzzled in closer. Lengthened her tongue and flicked it inside of him.

His moans were low and muffled with his face pressed into his pillow. It didn’t matter—Chelsea didn’t need to hear him to be encouraged. To draw him in closer to her mouth and increase the pressure and strokes of her tongue. The movements of his body rhythmically rocking into the mattress told her enough. Made her feel good, knowing she was making him feel good. Was it any wonder she felt like she was on a constant power trip? Honestly. how could she not be—having him practically fucking the bed because of the way she was eating him out? He made her feel powerful. Invincible, even though she wasn’t. Even though she could feel herself getting faint and light-headed. Running out of oxygen.

She wasn’t satiated—because she never was when it came to Elliot’s ass!—but she pulled away to get some air back into her lungs. Wheezed, almost. The world shifted and swirled around her. Chelsea blinked it back, sitting up on her knees and searching for the toy and the lube. Her throat was raw and raspy when she slipped back into character. “Now, I’m going to have to take your temperature the old fashioned way. No squirming, please!” The sound of the lube squeezing out of the bottle made her shudder. She smoothed it over the dildo and then covered some over two fingers to help get him ready. “This is going to feel a little cold.” She warned, sounding just like the sonographers at all of her ultrasound appointments. Yeah, see, she knew exactly what she was doing! She rimmed him with her slick fingertips, body pulsing at the low sounds he made in response to her touch. Aching for him. She swiped the sweat from her upper lip with her tongue and eased the toy inside of him. 

He rocked back into it. Took it for her like a champ. He shuffled up onto his hands and knees so there was space between his body and the mattress. So he could wrap his fingers around himself. Chelsea kept the toy in place and followed him, sitting up so she could reach around his torso and help him along with her other hand. Matched the movements of her hand with the movements of the toy, stroking in time. Guided her pace by the way his moans carried. Chelsea leaned down to press a kiss to his spine. Let her lips linger. No nurse, no doctor, had ever been this close before. No other person. This was how much he trusted her. This was security and safety and yeah, kinky as all hell, but it was spurred on by love and comfort and a complete trust in each other. Nobody else could ever say that. For either of them. “I love you.” Chelsea murmured, character forgotten. Overcome with her love for him. She focused on the way he felt under her skin when she hit his insides with the toy. The way his body completely shuddered through another orgasm. 

Had she mentioned yet how beautiful he was? Coming undone for her again. Making a mess out of their bed sheets, his hair damp and sticking up in every which direction. The hearty way he groaned when she plucked the dildo out of him. He rolled onto his back, away from his mess, and his abs moved with every sharp inhale and exhale. Chelsea drew her finger against his muscles, following every line and curve of his body. Crawled up the bed to rest beside him while he recovered. Shared his pillow and leaned into him.

It took her a moment to realise that his face wasn’t just shining with sweat, but with tears, too. Chelsea flung her leg over his thighs in an attempt to get closer. Couldn’t exactly cuddle him properly when she needed use of both of her hands: one in his hair, carding through wet, curly strands, and the other caressing the tears off his cheeks. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, honey. It’s okay.” She whispered, soft and soothing. Kissed a tear away. “You did so good, baby. You did great.” And another. “You’re such a good boy. You’re such a good boy, and I love you. It’s okay.” And another. “It’s alright. I’m so proud of you, baby. I’m always so proud of you.” Chelsea said close to his skin, brushing more tears away with the back of her hand.

He’d cried a couple times before, after a really good orgasm. She wasn’t sure if that’s what this was—or if he was crying because he was in pain, or because of something else. No matter the reason, she wanted to take care of him. Wanted him to feel safe and loved and cherished. Because he was. Wanted him to know how much it meant to her that he trusted her so much. Wanted him to know exactly how she felt about him—how he made her feel. Happy and in love and powerful and sexy and so, so proud of him. So privileged to be with him, to get to do this with him. An endless list with an endless amount of positive words and feelings. Her eyes stung with tears, too. Overjoyed and overwhelmed. 

“Thank you, Nurse Chelsea.”

Her rattled breath escaped through a bout of laughter. She blinked the tears away and leaned her forehead against the side of his face, breathing him in. “You’re welcome.” Chelsea mused. Her good boy with his good manners. Fuck, she loved him. She was in love with him. So much. More and more every day, every moment. Her lashes tickled his skin, they were so close. “Are you okay?” She asked, almost inaudible. Poked him with the tip of her nose. She just needed to be sure. Thankfully, Elliot was quick to reassure her. Ease her mind. The crying had been a good thing! With them, it was always fifty-fifty. Both of them seemed to cry about everything. One of the many ways in which they matched. One of the many reasons they were soulmates. She couldn’t get started on that list—she’d be going forever. Because they were for forever. 

Chelsea scrunched her hand in his hair, getting a good grip around the back of his head to bring his mouth to hers in a kiss. She matched his enthusiastic moans, tongue chasing after his. Elliot lifted her up off the mattress only to throw her back down onto the bed to have his way with her. His turn to look after her; conduct his own investigations. 

Her costume was kind of a mess, at this point. The nurse’s cap was loose on one side, threatening to fall off her head. Her hair was dishevelled and sex-affected. The dress was entirely unbuttoned—Elliot’s earlier handiwork—and open, exposing her half-naked body. Well. She was mostly naked; her bra bunched up underneath her breasts. Digging into her skin and marking it the same colour as the lace. No cup support whatsoever, and her boobs jiggled when Elliot dropped her down onto the bed and got her situated underneath him. As if he needed any sort of incentive. Her heels were still clasped on tight, at least. Chelsea wrapped her ankles around Elliot’s waist, spreading her legs for him as his hand travelled down her body. The stilettos lightly scraped against his back, but she knew he didn’t mind. Knew he’d enjoy that. Her panties had been on the entire time, wet but untouched until now: Elliot reached under the lacey material to pump her with two fingers. Circled her with his thumb. 

Chelsea jerked up into his hand and cried out against his ear. Elliot kept his fingers going and buried his face in her chest, mouth pursed over her nipple. Multi-tasking. God, he was so fucking talented. With his mouth, with his hands. Chelsea tucked her chin to the top of his head, fingers finding their way into his hair. Holding him in place by her breasts. She spurred on the rhythm of his fingers by finding her own, ceaselessly thrusting up into his touch. Muttering curse words through her whining and moaning. Fuck. It was all too much. Wasn’t sure where her orgasm came from—the tingling in her chest as the let down hit, and he sucked and nursed, or from his hand inside her underwear. Maybe both. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t absorb anything other than the shaking pleasure that rocked her entire body. The warm flush that covered her skin. Her head felt like static. She was buzzing. Fuck. 

Fuck. Her grip had loosened in his hair, because she felt weak and entirely weightless after all that, and Elliot used this to his advantage; breaking free of her grasp to trail his lips down the length of her body. Talk about nurse and patient—did he want her to end up in hospital!? He was, surely, trying to kill her. Trying to give her another heart attack, dragging the panties down her legs with his teeth. Jesus fucking Christ. Her underwear got stuck around her ankles, restricting her from spreading her legs any wider. She still tried, acting on base instinct. On pure, animalistic urges. Her high heels cut into the skin at his back, and Elliot put his mouth on her. Tasted her, and tasted the fruits of his labour. 

Chelsea fidgeted with Elliot’s fingers. Bounced against him on the chair, like an afterthought. Unconscious and natural. “How is it that the sex gets better every time?” Every day. She was like an addict chasing a high. She couldn’t get enough of him. Ever. “Lots of late night practising?” She joked. Like last night, giving him a handjob after he’d woken from a wet dream. Yesterday had also involved sex in the morning—no costumes or characters, this time, just good ol’ shower sex before he went off to work. So Elliot hadn’t seen her last two outfit options for the party yet. Had almost manifested one, with his dream about her in a cheerleading outfit. But she wasn’t sure if she was going to whip that one out for the party. She was saving it for a special occasion. All of her other three costumes were out of commission, at this point. Had to be deeply cleaned after all their dirty, sordid activities. She was, however, confident in her current choice of costume for the party: Grease catsuit.

She’d seen a Pink Ladies jacket at the party store and immediately had the idea of going as Danny and Sandy from Grease. Elliot had said his only criteria was matching, right? And he’d be the perfect Danny Zuko. It was a relatively low effort costume, too: jeans, a white shirt, the leather jacket. She’d found one at the party place with the T-Birds symbol painted on the back. It also meant she got to slick his hair back, which seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement for the both of them. They loved playing with each other’s hair. Case and point: Elliot’s cut hair on the floor after his trim. Her arm reached up behind her so she could have her fingers in his hair, caressing through the strands while they sat together. Spending a long time sliding gel through his hair and giving him that iconic Danny Zuko style sounded like the best idea, honestly. She was happy about it! Excited for the night they had ahead of them.

The last outfit was Grease, as well. The Rydell High cheerleading uniform. Red, like his dream. A matching red letterman cardigan for Elliot, if he preferred that over the leather jacket. His choice! They’d see when they got ready for the party later. And speaking of getting ready... Chelsea reluctantly got out of his lap. Pouted, distraught, when he pulled out of her. Yeah, she’d never get used to that feeling. Never not be pouty and whiney about it. “Shower?” She offered, holding out her hand for him to follow her. See if they could wash each other off without getting each other off again. 

Yeah, she’d been wrong about that one—they just couldn’t help themselves! And she’d been wrong about the Grease catsuit, too. What had fit her well and inconspicuously at the start of the week wasn’t the same on the weekend. And Macy and Amy still didn’t know she was pregnant. Chelsea had wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible, but her belly was going to make that pretty impossible tonight, apparently. It was Macy’s birthday! She was pregnant and celebrating and deserved all that limelight. Chelsea didn’t want to take away from that! Especially not now on her birthday of all days! 

“Fuck.” Chelsea swore, eyes welling up with tears and blurring her reflection in the mirror. She stood to the side in the bathroom, hands resting on her slightly swollen belly. It was a blatantly obvious bump in the tight leather of the catsuit. A small bump, only 12 weeks along, but a bump nonetheless! Macy would call her out for it as soon as they walked through the door, for sure. Elliot’s sister was smart! And Chelsea was so, so stupid. Beating herself up about it. Feeling moody and hormonal and teary.

Elliot was sitting on the edge of the mattress, tying the shoelaces on his Converses, T-Bird jacket hanging over the railing at the foot of their bed. Nipples poking through his tight white t-shirt, which she just so didn’t need right now, thank you! “I can’t wear this.” Chelsea croaked, raking a hand through her hair and walking back into the bedroom. A frown pulled at her expression, and she had to blink rapidly to will the tears away. They fell down her face, regardless. Her chest felt tight as she began to cry, feeling defeated. Overwhelmed. Overdramatic. Feeling stupid for getting so upset about something so trivial. But that was the hormones at play. That was just Chelsea. “I... I can’t wear this. Macy is going to see it from a mile away. I...” Chelsea rested a hand on her stomach, so Elliot could see it for himself. Used her other hand to cover her mouth. To cover her crying. “I look ridiculous.”

#elliot #elliot 31 #interaction #ROYAL PLAYING!!!!!!! 👑 #13.2k WORDS AND FOREVER LATER!!!! #OCTOBER EDIT: 15501 WORDS BITCH LETS FUCKING GO!!!!!

[chelseaheskett]

elliotholt​:

It’s quite the home we’ve made together. Chelsea was teasing him, mentioning all the favorite rooms they’d had sex in. And it was true, he did quite love their bedroom, but the sincerity in her voice…it really struck him. Because she was right. They’d built something so special here together, even just inside these four walls. It had taken him until he met Chelsea to find a place he felt comfortable coming home to. A place he’d felt safe inside of, a place where he’d felt like he was truly wanted. He’d felt like that as a teenager, coming home from school and going straight to his room, hiding so that his aunt and uncle wouldn’t have to put up with him any more than they had to. He’d felt like that in his twenties, coming home drunk to an empty ghost of a house that still haunted him. He’d felt like that when he first moved to Wilmington, coming home to a dark, bare apartment, only Charlie to keep him company. He hadn’t felt like that in a long time. Chelsea had made him feel welcome, needed, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d needed that until he met her. All he could do was smile at her, playing with the tie on her robe, a bit too choked up to properly respond to her. He was sure that she knew what he was thinking, anyway. She always did.

And he knew her just as well. Her forehead tilted against his, her smile soft and easy at his half-accepted compliment. Her fingers brushed against his cheek, coaxing out a smile of his own. She didn’t need to say anything, didn’t need to use words for him to know what she was thinking. You’re doing great, baby, I’m proud of you. He appreciated the sentiment behind it, even if he didn’t always believe he was doing something worthy of being proud of. But that was part of the problem, too, wasn’t it? Not believing that he deserved to be proud of the little steps he made in the right direction. He was getting there. And he had Chelsea along the way, cheering him on when he couldn’t do it himself.

Hmm…cheering him on. Like a cheerleader. Really, they needed to get a cheerleader costume for her, because that would just never leave his fantasies otherwise. He needed to satisfy that so he could move onto other, even more depraved fantasies. Just like nature intended.

There was something in the way Chelsea said you deserve to be spoiled, all light and soft and so, so kind that almost…made him believe it? Or at least made him want to believe it. That made him want all of it, want all of the things that he didn’t believe he deserved. Because maybe he did. “I like when you spoil me,” he said, and he meant it. Five years ago, the thought of anyone paying this much close attention to him would’ve set his teeth on edge. But it felt good with Chelsea. Here and now, it felt right. Like this was where he truly belonged. Like he wanted her to continue spoiling him.

He was getting ahead of himself. For now he’d sit back, let Chelsea dry his hair and just enjoy the moment. Enjoy being spoiled and pampered for as long as the inner-critic at the back of his mind stayed quiet. He was allowed to like this. Allowed to have moments of comfort and calmness. I’m allowed to be happy. He tried to tell himself that once a day - or at least whenever he started to feel guilty about about his happiness. I don’t have to keep punishing myself. He couldn’t always get through to himself, but he kept trying. Would keep trying until he didn’t need to try anymore. He slouched down in the chair when she turned on the hair dryer, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. The buzz filled their comfortable silence, a steady, incredibly relaxing sound. Warm air across his scalp, her fingers following, over and over and over. He could’ve fallen asleep like that, so at ease, if not for the hair blowing into his face and tickling his skin. He laughed, instinctively reaching up to push the hair away. “That tickles,” he couldn’t help but say, trying to speak around a giggle as some hair brushed against his nose. Chelsea chuckled in response to his own laughter and he could feel his grin get even wider. She didn’t say anything, just light, airy laughter that was music to his ears, one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard. God, he could listen to her laugh forever. He wanted to listen to her laugh forever.

The sound from the hair dryer stopped. He blinked open his eyes, a little bit dazed. Oh, shit. Was she done already? Wow. That didn’t last nearly long enough. Shit. How did he get her to do that forever, please and thank you. That was the most calm and at peace he’d felt in a while. He straightened his posture, trying to shake the pleasant fuzziness out of his senses, and Chelsea pulled him onto his feet. They settled into a very familiar position in front of the mirror, one arm wrapped around his stomach, the other playing with his freshly dried hair. Wow. This was the best day of his life. “I love it,” he said, breathless. So incredibly, ridiculously turned on that he almost couldn’t think straight. But he didn’t need to think, because she would do that for him. Snapped the elastic around his hips. Can we have sex now? He laughed heartily, both amused and completely fucking relieved. “God, I thought you’d never ask.” She wasted no time in getting him out of his pants, pushing them down until they puddled around his ankles. Stepped out of them and kicked them away, because clothes were overrated and unnecessary and just in his damn way.

Chelsea pushed him back onto the chair and without even consciously thinking about it, he slipped into his little submissive position: eyes down, hands behind his back - or around the back of the chair, in this case. Her hands heavy and rough on his shoulders. These were roles that they slotted into so perfectly, now. So easily, so naturally. He felt powerful even when he was powerless. Her hand moved down his arm, coaxing his arm out from behind the chair, guiding his hand to touch her. Giving him permission. The smooth material of her shorts was damp under his fingers, which was probably one of the sexiest things imaginable. His hand travelled up over the fabric so that he could get his hand underneath that pesky cloth. Chelsea looked gorgeous in everything she wore, but clothing had the awful downside of covering her up. Hiding all of her skin from him, hiding her breasts, which was just criminal in his opinion. He glanced up at her through his lashes, innocent smile on his face, being a very, very good boy. Perhaps even the best boy. She asked if he wanted to do the honors and he pouted, nodded, like he was the one asking for approval. He tugged down the shorts by their hem, letting them fall to the floor to be quickly forgotten about. She didn’t call him a good boy, he noticed. She knew what happened the last time she didn’t call him a good boy.

He grasped her hips, pulling her carefully back onto his lap, making sure she was properly seated on her throne. A queen in her rightful place. She was a queen and he was her ever loyal servant, ready to bow at her feet whenever she commanded. He set to work on the buttons of her top and her hands found their way back into his hair, mouth on his neck. Sucking on the spot by his ear that never failed to turn him completely into putty. Soft and pliable in her hands for her to shape as she desired. Made his hands shake, his vision get a little wobbly, and he struggled with the last couple of buttons before he managed to push the shirt off her shoulders. So much better. This time he got his well-deserved praise, his coveted good boy, and he practically purred in delight.

“I’m your good boy.”

He didn’t like the haircut—no, no, he loved it.  Said it with a breathless kind of smile. A toothy grin. “I love you.” Chelsea announced in reply. Just in case he’d forgotten. God, she’d never let him forget—couldn’t keep her hands off him. Ever. Fisted his hair with one hand and traced her fingers down the dip of his waist with the other. God, I thought you’d never ask. His laughter sounded golden. Genuine and full, and a little desperate. Keyed up exactly the same way she was right now. “I got you, baby.” Always in sync, always knowing what the other needed. And Chelsea needed it just as bad, eyes lit up in excitement and arousal as she sprang him free of his pyjama pants. Her own PJs were wet and sticking to her skin. Elliot didn’t waste much time with the material, getting his hand underneath her shorts to touch her properly. Good and proper, finger firm circling over her. Teasing her until he tugged the shorts down her body and out of their way. Chelsea panted through parted lips, a little lost for words. Feeling out of breath. 

Elliot pulled her into his lap, and Chelsea responded with an enthusiastic moan. Spread her legs wide to straddle him on the chair, the tips of her toes grazing the tiles of the bathroom floor. He unhooked the buttons on her top with unsteady fingers. Chelsea threw her arms around his shoulders before leaning down to trail her tongue up the hollow of his throat. Almost unconsciously, one of her hands climbed up the back of his neck to thread her fingers through his hair. So soft and fluffy and easy to pull on. Chelsea’s mouth followed up the curve of his jaw, slight scruff prickling her skin. She wasn’t as ticklish as he was, but she still giggled close to his ear, feeling happy. Just so, so happy. She was careful with her kisses. A little reserved. No sucking, no teeth. Needed to keep him clean and unbruised for the party tonight. Didn’t mean she didn’t have fun with it, though. Tongued the space under his ear, just like she knew he liked. He was taking an awfully long time to get her top undone. Enough time that Chelsea was already starting to grind into his lap, needy and impatient. 

“Mmm, good boy.” Chelsea murmured, hot into his ear, when the last button popped. The straps of her top, sleeveless and silk, had already fallen down her arms in their haste. Elliot helped her out of it, tossing it into oblivion. Chelsea didn’t care—’cause now she had his full attention. Now they had nothing else in their way, nothing standing between them. I’m your good boy. Chelsea fanned her fingers out over his cheeks, cradling his face in her hands. “Damn right you are.” She huffed, potentially a little too aggressive. Possessive, no doubt. Her gaze burning into his. “And I’m your hairdresser.” Yanked at his hair for emphasis, at her morning’s handiwork. She didn’t give him a chance to argue anything otherwise, pressing her mouth to his in a kiss. And then another, and then another. Kissed him until her toes started to curl. Kissed him until she couldn’t take it anymore.  

The chair rocked with her movements, rolling into him. She slid a hand down his bare chest, never breaking away from his lips. She could multi-task! Felt him gasp into a kiss when she got her fingers around him, clumsily pumping him with a hand. “God, you’re so sexy.” Chelsea said, rough and whiny when she pulled away to try and catch her breath. She bumped her nose against his. Panted against the side of his face while she jerked him off with a quick wrist. The chair was groaning under them, and they hadn’t even gotten started yet. Not really. She slowed her hand, putting her feet flat on the floor to stand up, change positions. Kissed him again, on her way. She didn’t want him to think she was done, or leaving. He whined all the same. Grabby hands on her hips. Chelsea laughed, all airy and affectionate. Momentarily turned her back to him.

There were some things they just didn’t do enough. Like getting the cuffs out, or 69′ing. Riding him wasn’t one of them, though. It was one of her favourite things! Very popular, in their house. She liked it from behind when he bent her over; had her on all fours, or pressed up against something solid. A kitchen counter. A desk or a table. Her other favourite position! Tied for first place. So, why not a combination of both? They didn’t do reverse cowgirl enough, in her opinion. And they had the opportune moment with the chair, and, really, Chelsea was in charge here. She could do whatever she wanted to. Elliot had last night, making fists out of the bedsheets and coming over his stomach—Chelsea had now. Chelsea had whatever the fuck she wanted. 

She reached behind her to hold his thigh, to keep her balance. Got her hand around him again, for guidance, and sunk down into his lap. A low, long-winded moan escaped her lips, settling against his hips. She didn’t move for a few moments, just enjoying him being inside of her, filling her up. Surrounding her completely. Elliot was pinching her waist, holding her in place. Chelsea found one of his hands and covered it, slowly sliding it up her naked body. Taking her time with it. When she stopped at her chest, he didn’t need any more encouragement. Took her breast into his giant hand and tweaked her nipple between thumb and forefinger. Chelsea leaned back against him, head tilted back in pleasure. Slightly bounced against him on instinct. 

Without any sort of instruction, he draped his other arm over her hip and started to stroke between her legs. Rub her off with his thumb. Chelsea snaked her hand up into his hair, tugging and tugging. “The best boy.” She cried out, arching forward. Rolling her hips. Jesus, he really knew what he was doing. Multi-tasking, too. And being on his best behaviour, always. She rode him in time to his finger-work. Legs spread apart, feet firmly planted on the floor. It was slow, at first. Controlled, almost, with her fingers still tangled in his hair. They moved together; Elliot thrusting his hips up, Chelsea rocking down against him. Always in sync. The pace was fast to pick up, like it always did, and so did their panting. Chelsea removed her hand from his hair to dig her nails into his thighs, gain more momentum. She was close to the edge and completely driven by her body. By his body, and the sounds he was making. “You like that, counselor?” She moaned, rough, somehow finding her voice. She threw her head back and tensed around him. 

#elliot #elliot 31 #interaction #U SILLY GOOSE!