Work Text:
“I’m like a balloon.” Sonya glares down at herself and the big swell of her pregnancy in the late afternoon light as it slips through the sheer curtains. “I can’t even see my toes.”
Johnny sits up in their bed, looking across to her. “You can still tie your own shoes and everything. You’re just, you know, knocked up. You could probably still pop my head like a grape between your thighs if you wanted to.”
“Don’t tempt me.” She flicks her eyes to him and sighs heavily. It’s three weeks til her due date, but every part of her aches and she wants to be done with this now. She strokes her fingers over her bare stomach, just barely brushing against it, but even that’s too strong a touch right now. “I could kill you. For so many reasons. I want to.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. Aren’t you supposed to be… I dunno, mellowing out when you’re this far along?” He yawns, stretching his arms out as if to crack his back. She takes the moment to blatantly admire him, sun-bronzed and muscled. He looks as good as he ever has, and she - well, she looks on with satisfaction. Hard not to, with a body that’s graced more movies and Hollywood’s Top Whatever lists waiting in her bed. Their bed. “Come here, hot stuff. I still want to get my hands on you.”
“There’s a lot of me,” she grumbles, walking over to him. She rubs her hand over her swollen stomach, pushing in and feeling the hard curve of a skull beneath her fingertips. It’s at the point where she feels like everything bothers her, skin too sensitive for anything but the thinnest and smoothest of fabrics. Which meant the minute she said something about it, she suddenly had silk robes and the highest thread count cotton and silk pajamas Johnny could get. Right now, even those feel uncomfortable, and just stands naked. The ripples of the central air pushing a breeze through the room cover her in goosebumps, and she lets out a growl of frustration. Sonya drops onto the bed, exhausted. “We still have so much to do.”
“The only thing we’re waiting on is the kid.” Johnny sits behind her, his arms wrapping around her shoulders, skating down her arms to spread over the bump. “And, knowing me, the kid’s gonna wait to make an entrance.”
“Don’t remind me. There’s a thing next week I have to be on post for, the unit ball. I need to give a speech and glad-hand, it’s my job. As much like shit as I’m going to look in full uniform.” She leans back against him, and her hands join his over her stomach. “This has to wait.” She pokes at the Inhabitant pointedly. “Stay put.”
Johnny’s mouth is on the back of her neck, trailing kisses over the bare skin of her shoulder and triceps. “Cages don’t wait.”
“This one is going to learn to.”
Johnny snorts, one hand sliding up and cupping one of her breasts, the other pressed against her belly, feeling the quiescent form beneath. He holds her breast gently, running his fingers over the round swell. They used to be easy for him to grasp, but now they overflow even his hands. She can feel every rough piece of callus on his fingers, and the smoother skin of his palms. Every caress makes her body throb with sensation, and all the pounding heads downward and settles low in her core. He licks the shell of her ear, tugging gently on her earlobe with his teeth.
“You look so good. I thought I was lucky before, but now? Every day you look even better.”
“Asshole,” she mutters, head lolling back against his shoulder. “Flattery gets you nowhere.”
“Except into your pants. And since you’re not wearing any right now, it’s a win-win.”
She elbows him, and he grunts once and kisses her throat again.
“Think you’re up for it? It’s been-“
“Since this morning.”
“Hey, that one was on you, Lieutenant Colonel Insatiable Sex Drive.” He chuckles and she snorts, irritated, but has to cede the point. Everything about her has been raging to go in this last trimester. Knowing every time might be the last time before there’s an interruption they can’t ignore has amped her up more. She barely has to think of the idea and she can already feel the twinging low in her belly. She feels more than sees Johnny move; when she turns, she sees him collecting all the pillows on the bed and bringing them down to the end.
“What are you doing?”
“Got an idea. Lay down here and get comfy, babe.”
“Now I’m worried.” She glares at him, but obliges, settling herself down on the pillows. He’s built up a backrest and there’s enough support that she’s not quite on her back, but reclining slightly, enough to give her a view over the rounded bulk of her body. He grins, looking her over and shaking his head.
“I’m the luckiest man alive,” he says, dropping down to his knees at the end of the bed. He settles her legs over his shoulders, kissing along the insides of her thighs. His stubble is rough against her and she squirms slightly; it might be nice sometimes, but right now it’s abrasive. He gets the hint, working his mouth downward and begins to flick his tongue, working his way along her folds. She angles her hips and spreads her legs wider open for him, hearing the muffled laugh against her inner thigh. She moans, and Johnny just keeps going, working her thoroughly up, making sure he’s left no inch of her untouched.
She pushes herself against him, reaching down to knot her hands in his hair and keep his face just where she wants it, so fucking close she can almost taste the orgasm through the thickness in her mouth, the way her throat’s going rough with all the sounds she’s making. Johnny just grins, and she can feel it against her thigh, and then his tongue starts circling her clit, sucking on it gently. His hands cup the bottoms of her thighs, holding her open and in place for him, just until she’s on the cusp of the bubble of orgasm.
The space between her legs is suddenly empty, and his face is slick and beaming when he lifts it up. She reaches forward and grabs him by the shoulders, kissing him thoroughly, licking out the taste of herself from his mouth. He grins like an idiot but his pupils are blown and she can see his heartbeat racing in the side of his neck. Johnny kisses his way down her body, sucking on the flesh over her collarbones and the soft skin around her breasts, working his way with deliberate attention down and along all of her to her hips. He slides back off the bed, and they shift again so she is right at the edge, eyes on him.
He settles himself between her legs, fingertips sliding up and down over her. She knows every inch of her is swollen and puffy, and this is no exception. Sonya shudders and almost whines with the stimulation; it’s not quite painful, but it’s enough to make her squirm again. She has a good view of him, lean and muscular and golden between her legs, and the impressive erection he’s sporting makes her mentally shake her head and snort. He’s as bad as she is, except she at least has the excuse of hormones. He’s just - still? - madly in lust with her.
“You’re fucking gorgeous, babe,” he says, spreading his hands out over her thighs. “You good?”
“Swear to God, Cage, you’ll be late to your own funeral. You got a reason you’re dragging this out?”
“Enjoying the view. Pretty sure it’s gonna be the last time you’re easy like this.” He winks, knowing he’s out of reach from her hands, but her legs wrap around him and her heels dig into his back, pushing him forward, almost hard enough to make him stumble into her. He laughs. “Shoulda known.”
“You’re in the most dangerous place of all,” she points out with honeyed sweetness. “Now get to it.”
“Yes ma’am.” Johnny has that smug grin on his face as he pushed into her, enough that Sonya can sag against the throne of pillows he’d made and watch it go from smug and a little tight, to hanging half-open and needing. He keeps reaching for her, holding her legs or brushing over the mound of her belly, his face shining with pure lust and want.
“You look so fucking good,” he says, breath hitching in his chest. “All curves now, none of the sharp edges, babe.” His hands reach up, angling in and palming her sides, thumbs grazing her nipples, kissing down the darker trail of hair from her navel downward. She’s accused him before of just liking the sound of his own voice, and he’s never denied it, but she also knows that tucked away beneath all of that clown of an actor is a man with a domineering, selfish father. Johnny thrives on positive feedback, and no matter how awkward it still is - and probably always will be - for her, she tries to give it to him, being as loud as she can without her own embarrassment settling in.
It’s surprisingly easy to be loud when she’s aching for him as badly as she is, wanting every inch of him she can get. All that contact on her skin isn’t bad, it’s indescribably good and she wants more of it. Sonya grips his shoulders and hauls him down over her. His hands slam into the pillows, trying not to crush her, or tumble off. When Johnny manages to get up onto the bed and they work themselves backwards to keep from falling off, she watches him hungrily until he climbs between her legs again. He waits a moment, just a moment - but it’s a moment long enough when her nails dig into his triceps, trying to tug him forward. Her grip only eases when Johnny pushes back inside her with a sound that marks him as relieved as her.
Sonya lets out a low moan, rolling her hips up and against him. Every inch of her feels full to bursting, a bubble ready to pop. His hands skim over her sides, the swell of her belly, the almost aching pressure of her breasts. His voice is a ragged litany of fucks and yes’s and eventually devolves into grunts and her name, always her name. He rocks in and out of her, and she drops one hand between them, rubbing circles around her clit, and it’s an almost frustrated, anguished need to climax that overwhelms her.
Johnny quickens his pace, seeming just as desperate to keep sparking the pleasure as she is to keep feeling him move around her. Her fingers clutch greedily at him, encouraging, praise falling from her lips in hissed fits and starts. Every bit of him rubbing against her is good, better than good. The pressure building up in her explodes through her body like a grenade, a burst of white and buzzing in her ears. Her body trembles, rippling beneath him, her breath hitching and shuddering out of control.
He keeps going, fucking her through her own climax as if it’s a point of pride to get her off before he does. It doesn’t take him much longer, hips stuttering against hers, shaking and letting out his own cry of release. She feels him jerk inside her, the burst of liquid heat, and then she frowns, swallowing.
The liquid heat doesn’t stop, not right away, even when he clearly has. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on his brow, his chest shuddering as he pants and struggles to catch his breath.. Her insides begin to knot, and the Inhabitant - Cassandra, as they’ve agreed after months of discussions, debates, lists, and arguments - seems to shift around.
“Uh…” Sonya blinks a few times as Johnny shudders against her.
“That was… fuck,” he swears, hands gripping her hips. “Never been anything like that before. Did I just make you…“ He stops as he looks down at her; the tight look on her face must make her look like she was just struck in the back of the head. The smug look on his face vanishes abruptly.
There’s another ripple, and she looks down at her stomach, and up at him.
“Sonya? What’s wrong?”
“Fucking Cages,” she said acidly, “know how to make an entrance.”