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A warm night breeze brushes over your skin as you work in the kitchen, scrubbing the grime from a small pile of pots and pans. The humidity of New Orleans sticks to your skin like glue, making you glad for the window that grants you this bit of air as you finish up at the sink.
The dinner you have made for your husband sits cold in the icebox- a common occurrence these days. He is out late again, and were it not for knowledge you have about his extracurricular activities, you would suspect an affair. Thankfully, Alastor is not the type. It is one of the reasons you love him.
The sound of the front door opening and closing makes you smile to yourself. You finish up at the sink and turn to face him, wondering if tonight's prey was human or animal- a question answered by the dirt you observe under his fingernails as his arms encircle your waist, and the lingering scent of something metallic. It persists in the air around you both, despite the lack of blood on his clothes. He must have changed already, burning whatever he had been wearing while making his kill. A thoughtful gesture. You handle most of the laundry, and bloodstains are difficult to wash out.
"Cherie." His voice is lower than it normally is. More gravelly. And there is something in his eyes that makes heat twist in your gut.
"Yes, Al?" You let out a contented sigh as he presses his face to your neck. There is a trace of whiskey on his breath- he likes to have a drink or two after putting a deserving person in the ground.
"Let me taste you," Alastor murmurs, causing your heart to skip a beat. He inhales through his nose, greedily breathing in your scent before moving to press his lips to yours.
His kiss is warm and possessive, tasting faintly of alcohol as he nips your lower lip, pressing his tongue forward to all but devour the inside of your mouth. Your hands come up to grasp at his deep brown curls, causing him to groan faintly. You slowly become aware that he is backing you against the kitchen counter, one of his slender legs coming to press between yours, nudging your thighs apart. At your hip, you feel something stiff beginning to press against you through your layers of clothing.
It is rare for him to be this physical. While certainly a loving husband, Alastor has never been particularly inclined towards carnal pursuits- although he is certainly affectionate in other ways. So you treasure this moment- and wonder what is on his mind for him to come home in such a state.
"Cherie," he repeats, parting from the kiss and hoisting you up onto the countertop. He urges you to wrap your legs around his waist, his hands finding their way to your rear as he begins to roll his hips against yours, the friction causing you both shudder. You can already feel yourself growing damp with arousal, your heartbeat quickening in your chest.
"You are so beautiful," he says, and although he has told you this a thousand times before, it never fails to make you feel warm and fuzzy. He means it. You can see it in his eyes, and feel it in the hardness now nudging insistently against your belly.
"But you could be even more beautiful." You freeze in Alastor's grip. He has never criticized your appearance before, not once, but before the anxiety and hurt can set in he continues, likely sensing that he has made a misstep.
"Forgive me. I did not mean..." He sucks a breath in through his teeth, a rare crack showing in his composure as he searches for the right words.
"I only meant to imply that you would glow, ma cherie. If you were with child." He pauses. "My child," he quickly adds, though the clarification is laughably unnecessary. You would never dream of being unfaithful to Alastor, and any man foolish enough to attempt to lay hands on you would quickly become fertilizer for the Louisiana bayou (and not before being stabbed at least a dozen times and stripped for any usable meat).
Your breath catches in your throat.
"You... you want to have a baby?" You ask slowly, almost hesitantly. You are not opposed to the idea. But Alastor has never seemed amenable to the idea of children. At best, he has expressed a certain indifference towards them, and at worst, a thinly veiled disdain- such that when you married him, you believed they were not in your future. And you were okay with that.
But there is no denying the small, almost traitorous pang of longing you feel as you envision a squirming infant with his eyes, or the pitter patter of little feet brightening the home that can feel so cavernous and quiet when he is away.
For a moment, Alastor is silent. He ceases the rolling of his hips, making you mourn the loss of the friction as his hands migrate up to cup your face.
"Perhaps," he affirms, his breath warm against your skin. Your heart skips a beat.
"I'll admit that in the past it seemed like a distasteful, messy endeavor. It's true that before we met I never intended to have one. I never wanted one. Children are loud, needy, dirty little things, are they not? Always underfoot, always getting into things, always covered in some kind of grime from playing with god knows what..." As he talks, he caresses your cheeks with his thumbs, before those deft fingers of his move to unbutton your blouse. He makes quick work of the garment, only making half an effort to fold it before setting it aside. His eyes now linger at the swell of your chest, still hidden under your brassiere.
"And yet, my dear, my thoughts have begun to linger on you, all alone in this house of ours, while I'm off at the radio station, day in and day out. It seems awfully lonely." It is lonely, but you fear agreeing with him might make him feel guilty, and you do not want that. Alastor works so hard to provide for you, and to cleanse the city of rot. You do not want to burden him.
"I'd rather you had some company, ma cherie. And I must confess... the idea of seeing you swollen and full of me... Of us.. It makes me feel beastly. It's undignified. It's filthy. And I want it." Alastor's eyes gleam, wild and possessive, and then his lips are on yours again, even hungrier than before. You moan into it as he hoists you up with a strength that belies his lean frame, hands once again moving to grasp at your rear. You keep your legs locked around his waist as he carries you all the way from the kitchen into the master bedroom. Each step brings with it a burst of teasing friction, your husband's erection rubbing almost torturously against your pelvis with every movement.
While Alastor may be unhappy with himself for giving into the base urge to breed, you cannot pretend to be anything less than eager as he deposits you on the bed. You look up at him as your back hits the mattress, and the heated glance he gives you in return has you feeling intimately aware of the growing wet patch between your legs. You would not be surprised if you have soaked through your undergarments already.
Alastor is on top of you almost instantly, trailing a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and jaw. He is messy, another rarity for him. Your brassiere is soon unhooked, tugged off, and tossed aside, falling quietly to the carpeted floor. Before long, your skirt and panties join it, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable before him. You can hear your own heart beating like a drum as your eyes glance at the fabric of his pants, now tenting obscenely at the crotch.
Your cunt throbs. Alastor pushes himself back to undo his belt, but his hand hesitates as it reaches the fine leather.
"Tell me that you want this, ma cherie. Tell me that I'm not alone in this... animal longing." There is a flicker of insecurity present in his tone. It would be easy to miss with the lust coating his expression. His pupils are blown wide, and though you cannot see them, you reckon that yours are, too.
"I need to know, before I... before I do something unspeakable. I need to know that you want this as much as I do. That you want to have my child as much as I want to give it to you," he pants. You find his restraint and even his doubt to be endearing. He cares so much for how you feel, even like this.
"I do want it," You answer. A shudder runs down his spine. "I want your baby, Al," you continue.
"A little boy or girl that looks just like you, to have and hold and love... I've always wanted that. I just... didn't think that you might want that too," you confess, your face flushing hotly.
Alastor lets out a sharp breath. His hands return to his belt, a reassured sort of confidence rolling through him as he undoes it and tugs his pants and undergarments down in one fell swoop. His cock springs free, the tip already flushed a deep red. You watch as a bead of precum drips down his shaft, and feel yourself clench around nothing.
"Fuck." The curse catches you by surprise as he positions himself over you. The fabric of his vest brushes against your chest, your nipples pebbling at the contact. Alastor has not bothered to remove any more of his clothes. He needs you, and he needs you now. There is a halfhearted effort to prepare you, two of his skilled fingers pushing into your sopping entrance and scissoring a few times, but the squeal you let out in response dries up any meager amount of patience he has left.
He pulls his hand back, licking his fingers clean as though sampling something sweet. Then he lines himself up with your cunt. The breath leaves your lungs as he pushes in, and you both let out a groan as he hilts himself within you, his pelvis pressing firmly against your pubic bone. The stretch is exquisite. Almost painful, but not quite. You take your husband's cock like you were made for it. Part of you thinks you were made for it. For him. Mind, body, and soul.
"Alastor," you whine, your hands moving to tangle once more in his hair. You want to kiss him again, but he denies you, letting you whine pathetically as his mouth instead trails down your neck and shoulder, landing at your breasts. He takes your left nipple into his mouth and sucks hungrily while his hips begin to move. A cry of pleasure leaves your throat, your back arching, pushing you further into your husband's grasp. The bed creaks noisily beneath you as he fucks into you. It is too much, and yet not enough.
"I wonder how long it will be," Alastor pants against your skin. "Until this takes. Until your belly starts to swell. Until you have milk for me." You feel his shaft twitch inside you, the heat that has been coiling in your gut pulling ever tighter as he switches his attention to your right breast. You decide against telling him that the milk is supposed to be for your child (and not him). He is not stupid. He knows. You simply hope you will be able to produce enough to satisfy both your future baby and your greedy husband.
"Al..." You are quickly losing any and all ability to form coherent thoughts or words. All you know is that you need Alastor. More. Always more. Your legs come up to encircle his waist, like they did when he carried you in here, and this time you dig the bare heels of your feet into his lower back in an effort to pull him closer, deeper. He lets out a responsive snarl, the white of his teeth catching in the dim light of the bedroom, and in that moment he seems more beast than man.
It should frighten you. Instead, it makes your pussy squelch around him so loudly that you would be mortified, had you the composure to think clearly. Thankfully, you do not. You are further and further gone with every drag of your husband's cock. You clench around him, pulling hard enough on his hair that it has to be painful, but he does not stop you. If anything, the sting in Alastor's scalp eggs him on. He bucks into you harder, faster, his length twitching inside you as his thrusts begin to lose their rhythm. He is close. You are, too.
"You'll take it, won't you, cherie? Everything I have to give you... All of it. All of me..." Alastor's voice is ragged as he releases your nipple from his mouth with an audible pop. You vigorously nod your head.
"Yes, Al! Give it to me, give me... give me all of you. I want- I need your baby, Al, please," you babble, tears of overstimulation beginning to brim at the corners of your eyes. You need him to fill you up, and you need to come, more than you have ever needed to come before in your entire life. Thankfully, you do not have to wait any longer.
Your begging is what sends Alastor over the edge. The sound he makes as he reaches his peak is nearly ethereal, spurt after spurt of hot white seed erupting inside you as he bullies the head of his cock against your cervix. Your peak follows immediately after, a gasp escaping your lips as your vision whites out. Your walls convulse around him, milking him for every drop as a blinding pleasure rolls over you.
It seems to last for ages. You have no idea how long it has been when the final waves of pleasure recede, making you feel boneless and utterly spent. Alastor's condition appears no better as he collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck. The room is quiet as you both attempt to catch your breaths. You lay together for a while in utter silence. You feel warm, content, and loved, your eyelids beginning to grow heavy. You nearly fall asleep, only to be jolted awake again when Alastor suddenly shoots up and disentangles himself from you. The sudden urgency of the motion causes alarm bells to ring in your head.
He stands up from the bed, his expression unreadable as he tucks himself away, redoing his belt and fixing his clothes as though nothing has just occurred between you two. But it is not until he leaves without a word, shutting the bedroom door behind him, that dread truly begins to pool in your stomach. Doubt creeps in.
Was this too much for him? While you do not have sex often, Alastor has never expressed repulsion or regret when you do. Is that what this is? Regret?
Your heart begins to race, and with it, you begin to overthink. Was he tipsy? You could smell his favorite whiskey on him before, and inebriated men often say things, do things that they do not mean. What if he does regret this? What if the talk of getting you with child, of you having his baby, was a temporary desire, born from drink, and now with post orgasm clarity setting in, he realizes he does not really want it? Maybe he will resent you for this, especially if you do fall pregnant. It would not be fair, but you find yourself unable to think rationally.
Your eyes begin to sting with tears, and as your husband's cooling spend begins to seep from between your legs and onto the bedsheets, you feel dirty, too. You bury your face in your hands. A few seconds later, the bedroom door opens again and Alastor's concerned voice is what jolts you out of your sudden, self-destructive mental spiral.
"Cherie?" You move your hands and timidly open your eyes. Alastor is standing a few feet away from you. His eyes are warm. You blink slowly, your vision clearing.
"Al?" You ask hesitantly. "I thought... I thought you left."
"Left? After what just happened? Heavens no, darling. You must think me a brute." He scoffs, visibly offended by the insinuation that he would be anything less than chivalrous to you. Your cheeks suddenly feel hot.
"I just... I... I thought that maybe you were having second thoughts about..." You are unable to bring yourself to say having a baby, but Alastor seems to catch your meaning anyway.
"Oh, no," he tuts disapprovingly. "None of that, darling. We've known each other far too long for you to be having doubts about my sincerity. I simply went to fetch something from the bathroom." He pauses, the mattress dipping as he joins you on the bed again. In his hands is a damp cloth. It is warm, too, you realize, as he presses it against your skin and gently begins wiping the evidence of your lovemaking away. You flinch slightly as he reaches the apex between your thighs. The area is tender. You will be sore tomorrow.
"I realize that I've never openly discussed a desire for children before, and that is... that is my error. I am... sorry for the confusion that may have caused." Alastor finishes with the cloth and tosses it into a nearby hamper without leaving your side.
"But please, ma cherie. Please never doubt that I do want this, and want you. If you were to bear a child... Our child... It would be an adjustment, certainly. But it would also make me the happiest man in New Orleans." He pushes a stray strand of hair out of your face, and your heart swells.
"Okay, Al," you respond. "I believe you... And... it would make me really happy too," you add. As your anxieties melt away, your fatigue returns, your eyelids becoming heavy once more. A smile tugs at Alastor's lips.
"Good," he says, his tone softening. He begins to tuck you into bed, pressing a kiss to your forehead once you are nice and settled.
"Sleep now," he murmurs. "I'll be in to join you once I have a bit of supper from the icebox. I don't want to see you out of bed until morning, understand? You're going to need your rest. Carrying a child is quite taxing, and if this doesn't take, well..." Alastor's eyes gleam with a sudden mischief.
"We'll have to keep trying until it does." Your husband quietly leaves the bedroom, closing the door behind him, and you fall asleep, dreaming of the future.