#dad!scott

“I ask you to take her home, and you’re telling me you got her pregnant instead?”

You watch a muscle in Javi’s face twitch as he addresses Scott, his eyes flitting to your stomach briefly.

“Not on purpose,” Scott defends with a shrug of his shoulders. He sounds almost bored when he says it, toying with non-existent lint on his shirt.

“That makes it worse, Scott. And you,” Javi turns his disappointed gaze to you. “I thought kids were for later. I thought you were focusing on your career and having fun and…” he trails off in exasperation, glancing frustratedly between yo u and Scott.

He puts his head in his hands with all the heavy disappointment of a father who just found out his teenage daughter is pregnant, and you grimace at Scott who just shrugs.

“Please don’t tell me you’re here to invite me to a shotgun wedding,” Javi blanches, eyes wide as if the possibility just dawned on him.

“Ew, no,” you squawk, nervous laughter caught in your throat.

“What do you mean ‘ew’?” Scott asks.

“Don’t take it personally, Scott. We’re just not romantically compatible,” you shrug before stretching your arms out.

“We haven’t even been on a date, you don’t know that.”

He turns to look at you and you keep your gaze focused forward on the abstract painting hanging just behind Javi.

“All we do when we talk to each other is argue, Scott.”

“That’s not all we do,” he chuckles.

“I’m not sure if this matters to you guys, but I’m still in here.”

You swallow your smartass comment, and choose instead to explain to Javi.

“This isn’t a big deal. Just figured you shouldn’t be ambushed by this since … you know. You know both of us.”

You pick at invisible lint on your jeans.

This conversation feels too sterile, businesslike. You suppose there’s no other way for it to go, really. You and Scott weren’t together so there was no need for the misty eyes and emotional ‘congratulations’. You don’t feel bad about that at all.

“How far along are you?”

“Early. I was uh… anxious afterwards. Wanted to find out sooner rather than later so I took a pregnancy test at the earliest possible time.”

Anxious was an understatement.

The full weight of your recklessness had hit you in the middle of the next day, and you'd spent a good hour trying to reassure yourself, and then distracted yourself with shitty reality TV and sugary treats.

Just over a week later you’d bought several pregnancy tests — cheap drug store ones and the fancy early detection ones with the LCD screens — and drunk so much water you thought you might burst.

Every test came back the same.

Strong, fast positives. Undeniable.

Your only consolation was that you’d caught it before any morning sickness could catch you off-guard.

“Too late to …” Javi makes a yanking motion and you sigh.

“I considered it.”

And you had. Endlessly. Almost booked an appointment too then chickened out at the last minute.

“Don’t tell me Scott talked you into keeping it,” Javi starts, already training a glare on Scott.

“Please, he’s not that persuasive.”

“Okay, I’ll have you know she sprung this on me too,” Scott defends, agitation clear in his voice.

“So you’re just… choosing to have the baby.”

“You sound confused,” you say.

“I thought you said you wanted to be in a proper relationship before you even considered a child.”

“I’m stable. Good job, a house with a spare room for the child once I get my work shit out of there. Mom and Dad will be thrilled, they’ve been asking me about kids for years,” you explain. “I’m good. A little scared, but good.”

“And I’ll be here too,” Scott chimes in.

“Sure,” you flash him a small smile, then return to analysing Javi’s painting.

“So no shotgun wedding but you guys are making a relationship work?”

“God no,” you scoff before Scott can say anything. You see him startle slightly in your periphery but you ignore it. “We don’t need to date just because I’m pregnant. We’ll co-parent. We can manage that can’t we Scott?”

You watch Scott swallow whatever he was going to say before and just nod in sullen agreement.

“Perfect,” you stand up. “Now that that’s done, I can get home.”

The jingle of Scott’s keys echos through the room as he stands up too.

“Don’t look so confused. You don’t have a car. It’s the least I can do.”

He has the type of look on his face that lets you know it’s not up for discussion, so you hug Javi goodbye and settle in for what you’re sure will be the most awkward ride of your life.

“I should probably get a car huh,” you joke after an eternal five minutes of silence.

“Probably. How the fuck do you live in Oklahoma without a car?”

“Carpool and Lyft. Sometimes the buses run on time too,” you shrug.

Silence falls again as you toy with the window switch and rack your brain for something to say.

“Have you eaten yet?”

Your stomach answers for you with an embarrassing gurgle.

“I’ve got leftovers at home, I’ll manage.”

“I’m hungry too. Let’s just grab dinner,” Scott says, already keying in a new address.

“You haven’t even asked me what I want.”

“You want leftovers. I don’t trust you to pick a place.”

You snort, but you don’t argue, just listen to the weather report as it drones on.

He takes you to a small diner smack bang in the middle of a dying or possibly already dead strip mall.

Big Joe’s is flickering above the windows in quickly fizzling neon, and the Christmas window paint is peeling but the place is packed.

“Swear by it. Best place I’ve been to since I moved to this godforsaken state,” Scott mumbles as he kills the engine.

“Hey. Oklahoma’s charming,” you defend as you slam the door.

“Careful,” he tuts.

“Sorry,” you smile as you trail behind him.

It’s bigger than it looks from outside, and a bubbly waitress with confusingly tropical nails guides you to a booth tucked away in the corner.

“It’s cute,” you muse, looking at the records on the wall and the defunct jukebox tucked away in a corner.

“Food’s good too.”

His knee is pressed into yours, his hand on your thigh while he pores over your menu with you. You’re laser focused, trying to ignore the fact that you can literally feel the heat radiating off him.

“You know, maybe Javi’s right. Maybe we should try.”

He’s cutting into your burger for you.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking it’s cooked all the way through. Did you hear me?”

“Heard you, Scott. We don’t have to. I promise you, I’m not gonna think any lesser of you if we just co-parent,” you shrug, bringing your plate back in front of you. “Seriously. You’re sticking around, two parents are better than one, we don’t need to make this more complicated.”

“You think dating’s complicated?”

“I think dating a man I don’t have much in common with just because I’m pregnant with his kid is complicated.”

“You don’t know that. We might have a lot in common,” he argues between bites of his own burger.

“Like?”

“Career driven people. We know Javi,” he offers. “Both hard-headed, organised people.”

“I’m not hard-headed.”

“I’m sure you believe that.”

String covers of pop songs play over the speakers as more customers file in, children with their parents, people obviously on dates.

“Am I even your type Scott?”

You lean back, arms crossed while he stares you down. You hate admitting it, but he looks good. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to expose strong forearms. Smells good too, something simple but earthy.

“I don’t have a type.”

“What was your last ex like?”

“Pretty woman,” he scoffs at the way you roll your eyes. “Smart. Sweet, not quite as mouthy as you. Didn’t argue with me all the time.”

“See. Not compatible,” you motion between the two of you, shifting slightly so you can put some space between you. He follows.

“I don’t mind a little argument every now and then. I’m a big boy,” he winks.

“Okay what’s my favourite colour then?”

“Jesus, how old are we? You ask this on dates?”

“No. But this isn’t a date so it doesn’t matter,” you clarify for him. “Guess my favourite colour though.”

“Fucking. Green or some shit, I don’t know I can’t tell. Your favourite colour doesn’t matter, you don’t even know mine,” he counters.

“I’m not the one trying to build a case for dating,” you say. “Look, let’s table this for much much later. Focus on dinner and getting through this first trimester.”

“Fine. But we’re gonna talk about it,” he says returning to his food.

He doesn’t bring up dating again, the two of you occupied with people watching and minor arguments about what the best cuisine is. You manage to rope Scott into a game — guess what strangers are ordering, loser buys the baby’s crib — and then try to unrope him when he has a three meal lead.

“You’re the worst kind of loser,” he observes.

“You have a head start on me, you come here all the time you probably know these people.”

He lets you call it a draw, baits you into more heated discussions as the night goes on, the dinner rush dies down and customers filter out.

“We’re about to close,” your waitress comes back. “Y’all want any drinks before we do?”

“Shit. Didn’t see the time, I think we’re good. Just the bill,” Scott replies.

You’re rummaging through your bag for your purse when Scott looks at you with a confused stare.

“The hell are you looking for?”

“My wallet.”

“It’s on me,” he shrugs, flipping his wallet open and pulling out his card just as you find yours.

“We’re splitting it. Otherwise you’ll think this was a date,” you say, smiling at the waitress as she makes her way back.

“Or you could let me buy you dinner because I wanna do something nice,” he throws back.

“Scott, you have a lifetime of being nice to me ahead of you. We’re splitting dinner.”

Your waitress cuts off any argument Scott might have, and he watches with a scowl as you tap your card to the reader for your half.

You half expect him to bring it up on the ride home but he just broods, jaw set and hands gripping the wheel tightly as he navigates the quiet streets back to your home.

“Thanks, for coming to tell Javi with me, you didn’t need to do that,” you mumble awkwardly as he parks.

“You sounded nervous when you asked. And I figure it’s good practice for when we have to tell everyone else,” he shrugs as as he walks you to your front door, his hand brushing against the small of your back as you walk up your front steps.

He lingers at your door, thumbs hooked awkwardly through the loops of his jeans.

“No chance you let me in tonight?”

“No. Because then it’s actually a date,” you explain, leaning back onto your door. Scott just leans in, too close for comfort but with nowhere else to go you face him head on.

“How is it a date if you made me split the bill?”

“Twenty-first century, asshole. I split with all my dates.”

You take the opportunity to unlock your door and cross over the threshold into safety when Scott stumbles back a little in confusion.

“Those aren’t dates. That’s grabbing dinner with a friend.” He’s in your space again, your head spinning with just how much of your door frame he’s taking up.

“If you’re fucking fifty. This is how I do it. It means I don’t owe anything at the end of the night,” you gesture pointedly to the space between you.

“Well duh, you don’t need to fuck someone because they fed you, but why does that mean you need to split the bill? ”

“It’s polite,” you counter, “lets someone know you’re not just using them for a free meal?”

“On the second date sure. Not on the first.” He’s actually in your house now, planted firmly on the welcome mat. “And besides, you don’t strike me as the type of woman who only fucks men who take her out for dinner. I’m here, you’re hot. May as well.”

There’s a traitorous part of your brain that concedes that he has a point. You didn’t need to be together, but it’s a slope that’s too slippery for you to even consider going down.

“No.” You press a firm hand to his chest and try to ignore the traitorous tug in your stomach when you feel the firm muscle, flash back to his skin under your palms while he ploughed into you. “If we start sleeping together it gets messy, Scott. Thank you for the ride, thank you for dinner. You need to go home.”

He mulls this over, then shrugs.

“Tight programme.”

His lips twitch.

“Don’t. Go home.”

“I’ll see you around. You have my personal.”

You exhale in relief, hand over hammering heart when he pulls out of your driveway. You could control this. You and Scott could be civilised, platonic co-parents who didn’t jump each other every time they were alone.

Except your body has other ideas.

All week all you can think about is Scott. His hand on the small of your back. His knee brushing against yours in the diner. The agitated set of his jaw when you’d quibbled with him over the bill. His hands on the steering wheel. His hands on you.

Every attempt to banish Scott from your mind is futile. It’s not easy when the man in question texts you almost daily. It’s mostly links with pregnancy diet plans, questions about how you’re doing, how you’re feeling.

All innocent things but there’s something about the way he cares that has you spiralling. The thought of cool, collected Scott clicking through forums and women’s health websites to find you resources makes you wonder what else he’ll do for you.

You work yourself up, debating the pros and cons of calling him up, asking him to come over just one more time before you guys really have to keep it clean.

PROS: good sex, good orgasm, no more unwanted flashbacks. CONS: Scott smiling, Scott being right, more flashback fodder for your increasingly primal brain.

You decide to phone a friend for this one.

“Sounds like you should call him,” your friend Lucy says. “You hooked up with a guy, he’s a bit of an asshole, but the sex was so good you let him fuck you again like a month later, and now you’re playing hard to get? Am I missing something?”

You debate telling her about the pregnancy, but decide against it.

“No,” you sigh. “I just don’t want him to win.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me, hold on.” You hear her car door slam shut, the sound of the wind muffled immediately. “You’re horny. All you can think about is this guy. But you won’t call him because — and let me just make sure I understand— you don’t want him to win. What the fuck are you talking about? Win what??”

“I don’t want him to know that he’s got me worked up.”

Or that he was right about the pregnancy making you feel feral.

“I’m not following.”

“He’s annoying. And fucking smug. And if I call him he’ll show up at my house with his stupid freckles and stupid dimples and fucking stupid gorgeous smile and dumb blue eyes smirking and being smug and calling me stubborn,” you explain. You can feel your eye twitching already imagining him darkening your doorstep with that ‘I told you so,’ smirk bright as day on his face.

“Okay he can’t be that bad. He’s Javi’s friend right? Javi wouldn’t keep an asshole around.”

“Javi’s business partner which is another reason I can’t call him.”

“The business partner thing didn’t stop you before so…” you can see her rolling her eyes.

“Okay it’s stopping me now. I can’t just give in. You don’t know how annoying he is. He has to be right all the time, and he’s always baiting me into arguments and do you know he called me an honorary lawyer? Code word for bitch by the way. There’s something wrong with him and I don’t want him in me anymore.”

“Sounds like you do want him in you though. Just my professional opinion. It also sounds like you met someone exactly like you and now you don’t know what to do.”

You try not to bristle at the tail end of her statement.

“You’re not helping.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. Since getting on the phone with me, you’ve called him hot several times. You said, and I quote ‘Luce, you should see his arms, he’s so fucking hot it’s not fair he’s an asshole’ and now you want me to believe you care about the business partner thing? Just fuck him. As many times as you need to get it out of your system.”

“I should’ve called Cate.”

“Cate would’ve asked for his picture. And a number, which despite the way you’re talking I don’t think you’d wanna give to her.”

You sigh.

“Babe, look. Just get yourself off and see if you have the hots for him after. Maybe you’re just pent up and need like thirty minutes with a wand.”

“You’re right,” you sigh.

“I always am. And if that doesn’t work maybe you should call him.”

There’s a long pause before Lucy continues.

“It would also be great to see a picture of the guy. Just so I know exactly what you’re possibly missing out on by being so hard-headed.”

“Goodbye Lucy, drive safe,” you snort, hanging up on her mid protest.

You know Lucy’s right. Maybe you just need to get off and post-nut clarity will do the rest.

So later that night, when you’re done with reality TV and can no longer ignore the bottomless pit of need opening up in your stomach you do try.

You try everything. You rub at yourself while listening to your favourite audios, guaranteed orgasms on any other night, except they don’t do anything but leave you slick and needy and worse off than before. You try a finger, then two, then three and all it does is make you think of Scott — how filling you up isn’t a problem for him. You break out the rabbit and the only time you get close is when you imagine Scott’s voice in your ear, telling you how well you take him with his hands on the backs of your thighs while he has you folded practically in half beneath him as he ruts in you. Not even the wand helps, all it does is leave you sweaty and unsatisfied, always on the brink but never quite toppling over that satisfying threshold.

Frustrated, annoyed and no closer to an orgasm than you were when you started you lie on your bed. The sheets are damp beneath you and you try to ignore the dull throb of your clit.

Lucy’s words echo in your head and the idea crystallises. Before you can begin to tell yourself you’re wrong, you’re opening up your text conversation with Scott. Text was better. If he didn’t see it in the next fifteen minutes you could unsend it and go about your day. You deliberate. You type, delete and retype the perfect opener but everything you say reeks with the scent of a horny guy sending a desperate ‘you up?’ message.

You consider whether to call — it’s 1am and Scott currently strikes you as the type of guy who doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s sleeping — and the pull in your stomach when you think about Scott’s hands on you drive your thumb to the call button.

It rings, and rings, and rings and you’re about to hang up when he answers, a hollow yawn echoing through you speakers.

“‘Sup?”

He was asleep. You can hear it in his voice, deep and raspy and unfortunately doing nothing to solve your current dilemma.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you mumble, relieved to find you still have some shame left.

“I’m up now, so tell me what’s wrong.”

Static hums between the two of you as you mentally workshop the best way to say it.

“Still there?”

“Yeah. It’s… an uncomfortable request,” you start. When he says nothing you continue. “You know how your buddy with the pregnant girl said she was like… hornyallthetimeiguess.”

He chuckles and it sends a distinct shiver of irritability down your spine.

“Nothing’s worked for you huh,” he says. You hear the muffled sound of movement and you imagine him getting out of bed.

“How’d you know?”

“You’re way too stubborn to call me before trying to solve that particular issue yourself.”

You’re not stubborn but you’ll let him win this one. A small price to pay for what would probably be the most satisfying orgasm of your life.

“Okay, yeah. Nothing else has worked.”

You don’t mention the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him, or that when you close your eyes with your wand at the highest setting you’re hearing his voice, feeling the soft press of his hand on your stomach.

“So what’s that got to do with me?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re horny, you can’t get yourself off. Where do I come in?”

You hear the soft click of a door shutting and you roll your eyes.

“Think you know very well where you come in,” you say to an irritating snicker over on his end. “You have to grow up. Before you get here, preferably.”

“Confident.”

“I can hear the echo of your parking garage.”

“Maybe I’m getting a snack. Seeing as I was woken up by an inconsiderate woman.”

You can picture his smirk, light pink lips drawn upwards slightly. The hint of a dimple.

“Scott. Please come over.”

“See how easy that was? I’ll see you in thirty.”

He’s there in twenty two.

“I hit every green,” he shrugs when you glare at him.

“I’m not a mathematician, but the odds of that happening seem low.”

“You wanna debate traffic light probability or let me fix your little problem?”

His eyes glint in the dim light of your kitchen, his voice low as he traps you against the counter. His hand traces a slow, dangerous path down your chest, pausing over your stomach as he just stares.

“Do you want water, maybe?”

The pathetic squeak breaks him out of his trance, and he chuckles.

“Not really. No.”

He nudges your thighs open with his knee, resting it between them as he slots his lips over yours, soft only for the second it takes you to relax into him before he’s groaning into you, tongue pressing against yours.

“Fucking stubborn.” He rocks into you and when he presses into your thigh you feel your stomach lurch. “Hard the whole way here,” he mumbles between kisses, teeth pulling at your bottom lip. “Could see you. Hand between your thighs desperate,” he mutters, “what else did you try?”

His lips are by your ear, teeth tugging at your earlobe while you try to make sense of what he’s saying.

“C’mon sweets, what else did you try?”

“Why’d you need to know?”

“I’ll only help if you tell me. You use a vibrator? How many fingers before you realised you needed me?”

His fingers press between your thighs, heavy and rough while his other hand tilts your chin up so you meet his eyes.

“Tell me, fuck. Tell me what you did. You think of me?”

You let out a traitorous whine and he swears under his breath.

“You did, didn’t you? You thought of me? Thought you didn’t wanna be messy.” He kisses into your neck, hand only leaving your face so he can give your breast a good squeeze.

You break away from him, dash to the other side of the counter so at least there’s something between you that isn’t alive and pulsing.

“Stop, stop. Wait,” you pant, arms out. “We need to be careful. This is delicate.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, pulling his shirt over his head. Your head’s rushing as you take him in. Follow the hair on his chest, down down down to his happy trail, watching as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and kicks them off.

“Why would you drive here with no underwear on?”

“You called me because you were horny. I’m removing barriers to access,” he says, walking around so he can trap you against the counter again. “Your turn,” he smiles, wiggling your shirt off and letting out a low whistle as his eyes drag down your body.

“Tell me everything you did while thinking of me,” he reminds you with a soft nip at your throat.

You can feel him pulsing, leaking where he's pressed against you, rubbing slowly against you.

You don’t know whether it’s embarrassment or lust, but your tongue is heavy in your mouth as he drags his lips down your chest and takes a nipple in his mouth.

His fingers ghost over your clit and you jerk a little.

“Tell me, or I’ll stop.”

It’s like your mouth is running on a motor your brain doesn’t have the ability to shut down as you explain in long, arduous detail exactly what you’d imagined. He never stops groping at your breasts, biting at the flesh and groaning when you whimper out into the kitchen, fingers digging almost painfully into his shoulders.

“So why’d it take you so long to call, hmm?” He finally asks when he comes back up. A finger presses into your entrance. “Why’d you gotta be so goddamn difficult?”

All you can do is whimper as he slides in, nice and slow, curling his finger into you slowly.

“You’re being a jerk,” you whimper into him, forehead resting on his shoulder while he adds a second finger.

“Just curious. Like pulling teeth with you.”

You’re arching into him, the sound of his fingers in you obscenely loud in the silence of the kitchen.

“Gonna call me next time right? Not as a last resort,” he tilts your chin up so you’re looking him in the eyes again. “Or do you like it this way? You like being desperate and sloppy before you call?”

In its worst act of treason yet, you feel your body shudder, your walls closing down tight around his fingers.

“Something not quite right with you,” he mutters, pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss. It’s messy, Scott matching desperation as he presses further into you. The edge of the counter digs into your lower back, and Scott’s pressed so firmly into you you can feel every pulse but it doesn’t stop the moan you let out into his mouth.

“Not enough,” you whine, bucking your hips into his fingers. Your breath catches when he bites gently into your shoulder, his hand palming roughly at your breast. “Scott, please,” you ask again. You can feel it building, properly this time but you know you need more. Need to feel him in you, every vein and ridge. You’re already dizzy at the thought of feeling yourself stretch around him, feeling the heavy pressure of his head as it pushes into that extra special spot within you.

“Okay. Okay,” he says, pulling his fingers out of you with an embarrassing squelch.

You watch in dazed confusion as he sits on your floor, head back against the cabinets as he grips the base of his cock.

“Tell me. Tell me how bad you want it.”

“You’re fucking joking, Scott. You’re here already. I’ve told you how bad I want it,” you whine, even as your knees bracket his hips and you lower yourself into his lap.

“Don’t be shy now. Weren’t so shy when you were waking me up for it.” Your eyes follow his hand as he pumps slowly, precum smearing along the shaft.

“You don’t have all night,” he reminds you, his other hand tightening on your hip, keeping you suspended right above him. “Go on say it. Say ‘please Scott’ say you’re sorry for being so hard-headed.”

“I’m not,” you mumble, squirming as he presses the tip into you, then pulls out.

“You are. Otherwise you wouldn’t have waited so fucking long. Just ask nicely for me sweetheart, I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

“You’re being an asshole. I’m pregnant, be nice to me.”

“This is me being nice. I got up the moment you called. Been paying real good attention to you since I got here. All I want is for you to ask me nicely.” He let’s go of himself to hold your jaw. “Say ‘please fuck me, Scotty. Sorry for being so stubborn’ easy peasy. Won’t even make you beg this time.”

It feels like you're begging and you almost regret calling him. But he’s right there. Right beneath you, aching just as badly as you are. Ready for you — and all you have to do is put your pride to the side.

Just this once.

“Please, Scotty,” you ask, grasping for him. “Please fuck me. I’m-” the words get caught in your throat but he encourages you with a smug raise of his eyebrow. “I’m sorry for being so stubborn.”

He’s not gentle, pushing up into you in one hard, satisfying thrust.

“Jesus fucking Christ! What the hell is your problem?”

It's meant to be stern, but between the breathy pitch of your voice and the way your head falls forward you know you haven't convinced him. He doesn’t even respond, no sharp quip or irritated huff, just the swift push and pull of his hips as he fucks into you, groaning in relief.

His fingers are still sticky with you as he presses them into the crease of your hips to keep you moving. Anything he does have to say is muffled when he presses his face into your chest sucking harshly at the tender flesh.

“Careful, please,”you whimper, hands on his shoulder trying to steady yourself. He nods, but he doesn’t move his head, keeps you moving firmly along his length as the sound of his skin meeting yours rings out in the silence.

“Been waiting… been waiting all week,” he finally says when he pulls his mouth off your tits, “all week for you to call. Nearly called myself,” he admits, hands squeezing your ass. “Never imagined you’d call me because you were just dying for it,” he laughs. His eyes are dark, sweat forming along his hairline.

“Not dying,” you eke out, but you know your words mean nothing when you’re so tight around him and your body is almost tingling with the need for relief.

“Feels like you are. Just so fucking, warm and wet and-” his head drops to your chest again, teeth coming down gently around your nipple. Your fingers press into his shoulder a little harder.

“See? So fucking easy. Can feel how much you like this, can’t hide from me no matter how long you pretend.”

You’re close again, but Scott’s so lost in teasing at your nipples gently that you have to slip your hand between your bodies and take care of your neglected clit yourself.

It’s pitiful really, the way you grip and pulse as you feel his tongue on your boobs but you can’t bring yourself to care that much anymore.

“There you go you’ve got it,” he encourages, “go on make yourself cum for me.”

He’s pressing sloppy kisses along your jaw, almost tender enough to distract from the fullness you feel.

“Fuck, you’re nearly there can feel it. You need me to help with that too? Can’t do it without me?”

You don’t need to look at him to see the smirk plastered across his face, and much to your dismay the cocky lilt of his voice is what gets you over, your eyes shut tight as you bury your face into the crook of his shoulder.

Blinding relief is what you feel as he helps you ride him through it, but even when you're done he doesn’t stop pressing up into you as your nerves fray from the stimulation.

“Scott, hold on,” you choke out, desperately reaching for his hands.

“Fuck, you think you’re the only one who needs to cum? Isn’t this supposed to be mutual? Or am I just dick on demand to you?”

You’re shaking your head, trying to clear the settling haze as he just keeps going.

“Is that it? Can’t let me buy you dinner but want me to haul ass to give this pretty pussy relief?”

“Scott-”

“You’re gonna let me finish right sweets? Gonna let me pump you full right here on your fucking floor?”

You nod.

“Atta girl,” he kisses into the side of your head. There’s a temporary moment of relief as he pulls out of you, but it’s short lived when he puts you on all fours and presses your cheek to the cold tile floor.

“Atta girl, just take it for me, okay,” he coaxes as he presses into you again. “Just so easy, shit, fucking gushing here.” He’s relentless, squeezing and groping at your ass as he slides you along his cock like it’s nothing to him. “There we go, just like that, that feel good to you?”

You’re nodding as much as you can with your cheek against the floor, tightening at the pressure and the feeling of his thighs on yours.

“Look at you. Little miss ‘let’s not complicate it’ leaking all over her kitchen floor,” he gives your ass a light tap, hips faltering just that little bit when you squeeze around him. He does it again, slightly harder, the echo of it shifting something in your chest. “Doesn’t feel complicated to me, though. Feels pretty simple.” He leans forward, lips pressed to the back of your neck as his hand reaches down to rest on yours stomach.

“Scott,” you whisper, desperately trying to speed him along, but he doesn’t react just hums into the sweat soaked skin at the nape of your skin.

“Baby in there. That we made,” he finally speaks, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass again. “Fuck you’re gonna be so pretty. You gonna let me take care of you when your tummy’s all round right? Just like this, right?”

You mumble something, jaw slack as he keeps kissing into your back.

“Oh god, can’t wait to feel you when you’re all full,” he chokes out, pace growing sloppy,”and these,” he practically whines as he grabs your breast again, squeezing harder. “Gonna be so full, won’t know what to do with them,” he trails off, inaudible as he presses himself into you one last time, twitching with a strangled moan.

He pulls out slowly, collapsing in a heap on the floor next to you, arms open in invitation.

“There’s something wrong with you,” you pant when your head is no longer pure static.

“Me? You’re the one who called me at 1am because you were struggling to get off.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“You can’t keep using that as an excuse.”

“I’m growing an entire child. That you put in here, by the way. I’ll milk this ‘til the day I push it out,” you snort. “Besides if you can’t handle this how are you gonna handle being my delivery guy when all I want is the worst pizza invented. Or when I tell you to come over because I have excruciating back pain.”

You rest your head on his chest.

“I’m not driving thirty minutes to give you back rubs.”

“You are. Whenever I want,” you command through a yawn. “And sex. Any time,” you tack on as a joke.

“Food, back rubs, sex. I might as well just move in.”

“Funny. No.”

“I’m serious,” he rolls over to put a hand on your stomach. “Can take care of you better if I’m here with you.”

“I’m capable of taking care of myself, Scott.”

“I know, just extra hands. Keep you happy while she grows in there.”

“Could be a boy, maybe.”

“Mmm. But I want a girl. Little girl would be nice.”

You snort. It never occurred to you that he might have a preference.

“I’m serious though, about moving in.”

“We’ll talk later. I’m crusting up over here. And sleepy.”

“Guess I need to go?”

You sigh.

“You can stay. It’s late anyway,” you sigh, patting his hand.

“Not so strict after a good fucking right?”

“I will kick you out, don’t irritate me.”

“I live to irritate you though,” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get cleaned up. Mop the fucking floor. We’ll talk about my move in date later.”

The Man of the Moment had finally been chivvied off to bed by his mother when his head started nodding where he sat on the couch amongst his family. In her words, nobody needed to hear his boar-like snorting, but the flicker of concern in her eyes betrayed the real need to ensure he didn’t overdo it.

The eldest son of the Man of the Moment leant on the balustrade, watching the stars come out and absently swirling the whisky in his glass. The air was still warm and he had to slowly adjust the movement of his wrist to maintain the rhythm of the rapidly shrinking ‘rocks’. He’d come to prefer it un-iced anyway, but when your long-lost father offers you a sample of his secret, secret stash… well. Scott would have taken it with gravel and he would have enjoyed it.

It was good, if a little chilly. And the day had been wonderful, if a little strange. Like stretching a muscle that had gone untested for eight years. Maybe longer.

They’d never really made a big deal of the day before that in any case - even when he was alive their father had often been absent.

But there were always cards (some somewhat delayed in receipt). And he hadn’t realised until today, until he helped Dad drag a large flat box out from underneath his bed, that every card had been kept - from the first one picked out by Mom and signed on behalf of a 2-month old Scott - right up to the year Jeff disappeared. There wasn’t even a gap whilst Scott himself had been missing, thanks to the ingrained military practice of buying and writing cards in advance of deployments. Toddler scribbles, homemade masterpieces, that 4ft monstrosity Gordon had dragged home aged 10… even the obviously-last-minute convenience store purchases hurriedly signed 3 minutes before the still-damp envelope seal was broken. All were bundled together by year, little elastic bands and post-it notes delineating the passage of time.

There had been a lot of laughter, a fair amount of cringing and a few sniffles as those were explored. Happy times.

What Scott didn’t mention, what he’d never mention, was that when Jeff went missing, the cards didn’t stop. Not completely.

Every year except the first, where everything was still so raw and chaotic the day passed with nobody even knowing what date it was, there had been three Fathers’ Day cards written by the Tracy family.

Two were quietly slipped together under Scott’s door - a rare moment of collaboration between the Tinies. They were never the traditional kind, didn’t ACTUALLY mention Fathers Day on the front, but a would be a ‘blank for your own message’ card with a funny or interesting picture. Often an aircraft or some kind of bird. The contents would often be daft nonsense - silly puns, banter about the grey hairs and denial of liability for them, once a comedy poem about an albatross and the Kraken which had kept him smiling for days. But next to the signature, there’d be a little “you’re not so bad after all” or “thanks for everything, big bro” or even once a “Just wanted you to know it doesn’t go unnoticed xxx”

Nothing was ever said, but he’d find them later in the day and squeeze their shoulders or drop a kiss on the top of each head. Maybe there would be less squabbling and teenage stroppiness that day… often there wouldn’t. But things would feel lighter between the three of them for a while.

The third card was more of a letter, more of an incoherent flood of news, worries… regrets… requests for forgiveness. But it was always folded like a card for… reasons. And then folded again. And again until it was halved 7 times and couldn’t physically be squished up any smaller. Then, late at night when everyone else was asleep it would be set aflame right here on the balcony. Scott would watch the sparks fly into the sky and nurture a moment’s foolish hope that the message would be received.

No need for that this year. Dad was right here. Scott could tell him anything he wished at any moment, seek his advice, share his concerns, ask for… approval? All of that. He was right here.

And yet…

He shook himself. And downed the remainder of the whisky, flinching a little at the cold on his teeth and eyed the glass, wondering whether he could risk another one… a less rocky one. There was time for all the talking later. When he was well. When it was safe to burden him with such things. Not yet.

His pondering was interrupted by scuffling and heated whispering from just inside the balcony door behind him. He braced himself to mediate the latest nonsense from the Tinies but all went quiet and there was just a quite clack-swish of something falling through the doorway and sliding a little across the ground. Then running feet as they departed.

He looked down to see a single blue envelope at his feet. Unaddressed but for a tiny cartoon of a child’s scooter…

He rolled his eyes. Suspecting a prank was pending but, too tired to resist the inevitable, he crouched to retrieve it and slid his finger under the flap of the envelope to peer inside. Then closed it again, hurriedly. A chunky font screamed “BESTEST DAD EVER!” from the midst of a multicoloured explosion. They’d got the envelopes mixed up, clearly. He went to call after the two idiots but they were long gone.

With a sigh, he stood back up and decided he’d better chase them down but was arrested by curiosity. Both had given Dad cards earlier… what was this for? He hoped it wasn’t a prank… he didn’t think Dad was ready for that yet… they were trying to keep surprises to a minimum until his heart started behaving more reliably.

They wouldn’t, would they?

Hmm.

He’d better check.

Leaning back on to the railings with a good portion of free space in front to fling anything unpleasant into… he pulled the card from the envelope and opened it… very carefully.

Nothing exploded. Or popped out at him. There was no glitter in his eyeballs nor squeaky earworm tunes blasted from tinny micro speakers.

And yet he gasped harshly as his heart raced and his eyes blurred with sudden tears.

The card was empty but for his name at the top, Alan and Gordon’s at the bottom and two words in the middle, underlined and emphasised with a heavy full stop:

Still True.

Part 2

Mr Colton, who lived at number fifty-four said he’d taken his son to the pool at the same time that the Tracy boys had been there without their father as usual. He told Vera that he’d overheard the youngest chattering away to the red-headed one about a rocket he’d called the TV21 until the eldest had overheard and shushed them. According to Mrs Johnson who was friends with Ms Hernandez at the school, Col. Tracy had budding engineers, astronauts and a future Olympic swimmer at the home he never seemed to return to. Instead it was Scott and Virgil who took their brothers to swim meets and galas and even to the Cosmosphere. Ms Hernandez could find nothing to complain about because all four of the Tracy boys grades were above average and threw off the teachers’ bell curves when it came to subjects like science and math.

That Scott boy sure had his hands full with three brothers, his own future and a possibly alcoholic father to look after, so the whole town was surprised when he went and knocked up the Austin girl after being crowned king and queen of their grad ball. Not much ever happened in the backwater towns of the sunflower state so everybody knew about it the morning after the night Pa Austin went round the Tracy’s farmhouse to have it out with the Colonel.

The rumour mill had been on fire for months after that because Mrs Johnson had been having her usual perm when she’d heard Ma Austin tell Shirley all about how her daughter’s boyfriend had been going to leave their small town after graduation. She’d seen the way the Tracy boy cared for his brothers and had expected he’d give up his plans to join the military if he had a kid of his own at home with her.

To the town’s surprise, it turned out that the Colonel was actually a long distance father and not an entirely absent one. Pa Austin had stormed to the farmhouse that night with his shotgun in hand, only to be greeted by a hologram of the great Colonel himself, sat eating dinner on a beach somewhere as his boys ate dinner round a table in Kansas. Austin had gone round with the aim of threatening at least one Tracy with his shotgun but hadn’t got that far because Colonel Jefferson Tracy could still dominate a room from over a thousand miles away.

According to Pa Austin, his fancy hologram was just as tall as the real thing and pretty sober which put paid to Mrs Wyatt’s theory that he was an alcoholic. In fact he was a Big Apple businessman now, and a darn good one at that because by the end of the evening it had been decided that his eldest son would join the GDF as planned and the child would remain with its mother but want for nothing. Tracys took care of their own and Pa Austin said he’d realised that when the colonel’s youngest boy had kept interrupting their conversation to show him trash he’d found in the pond at the park and Tracy hadn’t brushed the youngster off at all.

The big holographic man had promised they’d feed the ducks at the weekend, which meant half the town was hanging around the park come Saturday morning.

The youngest had appeared first, full of joy and enthusiasm that his older brother didn’t share as the red-head was dragged across the grass to the pond. The second eldest was close behind them and had a couple of toy boats in his arms which left the eldest Tracy boy and his father to bring up the rear.

They were deep in conversation when they appeared, the Colonel strolling along easily with his hands behind his back like an old fashioned gentleman. Scott was by his side and gone was the little boy always running to catch up. In his place strode a man and it was rather disappointing really.

The Tracys moved away shortly afterwards. Stan the mailman said he’d seen fancy suits taking pictures of the farmhouse and the Tracys had paid for their mail to be redirected but he couldn’t seem to find an address. The Austins had an address for the Tracys, but they also had a pretty hefty NDA in exchange for a very comfortable lifestyle and weren’t much inclined to break it just to satisfy everyone else’s curiosity.

It all died down after a while and people got bored of watching Sophia get bigger. Her old flame might’ve flown out of the picture but his presence sure was felt around town when Sophia got her own car and fancy place on the Tracy’s dime.  Ms Hernandez said the colonel had insisted Ms Sophia continue her education alongside being a momma to his first grandchild and Shirley heard there was a job at the Tracy’s family business when she wanted to get out of Kansas.

Nothing exciting happened in their little backwater until the day a private jet landed on the main street and Sophia was whisked off to give birth at a very fancy hospital. According to Ma Austin, she had a private room and the colonel had parked his jet on the roof since his son wouldn’t make it back in time for the birth.

They did seem to be a good family, the Tracys, even if they’d disappeared off the face of the earth in the past eight months or so. The only trace anybody could seem to find of them was on the Tracy Industries website where each son had a mention in the CEO’s bio but real information was scarce. They disappeared off Ms Hernandez’s records and there was nothing about them on any government website. Nobody was truly surprised that the Colonel had chosen to disappear because they’d come to realise a few things after reading his bio. For one, the fella was a billionaire several times over and two, he adored those four boys of his more than anything because his words about his achievements had been clinical but the paragraph about each of his sons’ achievements had made old Mrs Johnson cry.

Of course everybody wanted to know what happened but the Austins didn’t have a lot to say. The Colonel was a very nice man who didn’t seem to have taken offence to Ms Austin’s actions. He’d offered her further education and employment instead of the lawsuit most men in his position would’ve filed. There were rumours the fella was working on a top secret project that’d change the world, but in their little backwater there were rumours about everything.

Alan Tracy didn’t pay attention to any of those rumours as he grew up with his momma in a sleepy little town in Kansas. The little boy loved many things including his momma and their house that had a big garden with a tire swing and a sandpit he used to re-enact grandpa landing on Mars. He loved ice cream and going to the park and he even liked Kindergarten ‘cause he got to draw pictures of his family and space.

But what Alan Tracy loved most of all was his daddy. He didn’t get to see him a lot ‘cause he was learning to be a pilot like grandpa, but every Friday evening a fancy car arrived to take him a little way out of town where grandpa’s jet would be waiting to take him to the island for the whole weekend.

Sometimes grandpa flew it but he had lots of meetings around the world so other times he’d see Uncle Virgil through the window and squeal with excitement ‘cause his biggest uncle had the best toys. He was gonna be an engineer and could fix any of Alan’s toys, even the one that failed a moon launch. He had Alan’s undying love ‘cause the little boy could hang from his arm like a monkey and  he had lots of fun stories about his daddy. They were best, best friends and Alan liked to crawl into that big plaid shirt and bug him ‘til Uncle Virg showed him pictures of when daddy was little.

Uncle Virg wasn’t always around though ‘cause he was studying in Denver but that was okay ‘cause Alan had two more uncles to play with. Johnny didn’t really like to play but when he was home he let Alan play with his telescopes and taught him all about space.

Alan loved his daddy but he thought he might love space even more. He loved it when Johnny took him up to the peak of the island in the dark and they sat for an hour to watch for shooting stars. Alan had fallen asleep once on the big fluffy blanket and the best thing of all was when he woke to find daddy had an arm around Johnny’s shoulders and Alan had been drooling on his shirt.

“Hey, sprout.” Daddy had smooched his forehead when he’d noticed bright blue eyes staring up at him with joy, “I love you. John says you’ve been learning about the stars some more.”

“There’s Ursa Major!” Alan had stood up to be able to point out the little pinpricks of light that made up the Ursa Major Constellation and he still hadn’t been taller than his daddy, “Johnny says Ursa’s a big bear like Uncle Virg.”

“Johnny told you that, did he?” his daddy’s laugh had made Alan feel warm right down to his bones and he’d dived for a hug. Impossibly long arms had folded around him and Johnny, drawing them both into the safest place in the universe for so long they missed most of the shooting stars and Johnny made them go away so he could see the rest. Alan didn’t mind ‘cause dad swung him up onto his shoulders and let him get wet on the rocky beach by the villa since it was bath time anyway.

Alan loved Sunday mornings on the island when daddy was home. Alan liked to wake him up by bouncing on the bed ‘cause the sky was awake so they should be too. And then they’d get dressed in matching blue swim shorts and go for a run around the island and if he ran faster than daddy on the home stretch he was allowed to jump into the pool like Superman. Gordon was usually in there by then and kept an eye on Allie doing the doggy paddle in the shallow end whilst daddy went to get breakfast out the fridge. There was something cool that beeped super loud that time he tried to moonwalk on the bottom of the pool like an astronaut and Uncle Virg had dived in like a bowling ball to fish him out. Gordon had laughed a lot but Uncle Virg hadn’t even smiled ‘til daddy gave him one of those hugs that made booboos stop hurting.

Alan really loved his uncles but he loved his daddy most and it was hard to stand on the runway with Uncle Virg to wave goodbye. Uncle Virg didn’t seem to like waving goodbye either so Alan always held his hand to make him feel better and did his best to be like daddy so Uncle Virg wouldn’t miss him too much.

He seemed to end up being more like John as a couple of years passed and everything in his life changed. Grandpa took him to London to get measured for a suit for daddy’s graduation and he didn’t understand why Uncle Virg kept frowning at Gordon for laughing about daddy’s graduation from big school. He asked Uncle Virg what was so funny, and then Grandpa and Grandpa’s weird professor friend who used big words Alan didn’t know yet, but none of them seemed to know and even daddy missed a step when Alan asked him on their way to the fancy dinner Grandpa was hosting at his penthouse in New York for his newly graduated son. Daddy never ever missed anything which was annoying when Alan was trying to get hold of Gordon’s cookies but he’d breathed air the wrong way and Uncle Virg had to thump his back a few times.

Daddy had talked about how cool Alan looked in his little gray suit and Alan had been so happy he’d forgotten about his question ‘til after dinner when they were still at the table and he’d pulled himself onto Grandpa’s knee ‘cause Uncle Virg and Gordon were being loud and he’d been a tired little boy by then. He’d tried one last time to find out what was so funny about daddy’s last graduation and Grandpa had rested his chin atop Allie’s head.

“Your momma and daddy had you after his last graduation.” Grandpa rumbled, “You were quite an unexpected surprise for your daddy, but a welcome one. Gordon likes to remind your daddy about what a big surprise you were.”

“Your daddy was a surprise too, as I recall.” Grandma Tracy was sat with Grandpa and Alan loved visiting her but sometimes she made him cookies and he didn’t love those.

“I love daddy, not cookies.” he mumbled tiredly and fell asleep right there at the table.

That meant he missed the way his Grandpa coughed to quieten his four boys because he had something real important to discuss with them. Scott knew what it was, and Virg had an inkling because it was difficult to disguise underground excavations from a highly skilled engineer. They were sat together with Virgil’s elbow resting on the back of Scott’s chair and blue eyes softened when he realised where Alan had got to.