Word count: 2117
Summary: Howl is very set on this baby thing.
A/N: *giggles madly* This was pretty fun to write! The last thing I read of them was House of Many Ways, which was fantastic, and seems a long time ago, even if it wasn't? I hope I got them IC enough! I did some rudimentary research for this fic, and also made some shit up lol.
When Howl pulled out the socks, Sophie decided enough was enough.
“Honestly, Howl,” she snapped, “you know more old wives’ tales than Lettie! Somehow I find it hard to believe that socks are going to be factoring into whether or not I have a baby.”
“You’re throwing this wildly out of proportion,” Howl told her, leaning against the bed as he pulled on his socks, completely nude otherwise. “As usual. These are just… a few helpful measures, nothing more.”
“Howl,” she said. “You have shells on the bedside table, and if I’m not careful I’m going to brain myself on this rose quartz. You’ve done things with ropes that I didn’t think was possible, and this isn’t even counting the things I know you’ve done behind my back.”
“Sophie,” Howl said, grinning, “Are you calling me a sneak?”
Sophie leveled a flat look at her husband ominously; “If the shoe fits.”
“Or! In this case, the sock.” Howl wriggled his toes into the heavy woolen socks triumphantly while Sophie made a pained noise and quite possibly twitched. Howl finally looked up at her, eyes warm green through strands of inhumanly pale hair in his sharply handsome face. “Don’t you want to try absolutely everything, Sophie dear?”
Sophie, propped up on her elbows and nakedly impatient, said, “We’re running out of your precious moonlight, Howl. And if you really wanted to try everything,” she smirked, “You could let me talk sense into your dick.”
“No,” Howl said adamantly, eyes a touch wide. Theatrically enough, he cupped a hand over his crotch. “You are not bespelling my manhood. Absolutely not!”
“As I thought,” was Sophie’s lofty response. She flopped back against the bed, hitting her arm on the heavy rose quartz that Howl had placed there. She rolled her eyes, and said: “Are the candles some archaic ritual for fertility, as well?”
“No,” Howl said, and Sophie finally felt the bed dip as Howl moved up onto it with her, crawling slowly up her body. “That’s what the statue under the bed is for. I just think the candles are romantic. Don’t you think they’re romantic, Sophie?”
Sophie pursed her lips at him, and twitched again when she felt the brush of his covered feet against her calves. “Ah,” Howl sighed, “of course. How could I forget you don’t have a romantic bone in your body? Silly of me.”
“Yes,” Sophie said. “Silly. And outrageous. And absurd. And will you just-“
Howl leaned down over her and pressed his lips sweetly against hers, a gentle slide that never failed to make Sophie soften and warm beneath him. He drew back, a smile playing around his lips, and murmured, “Sophie dear, I do believe we’re running out of moonlight.”
“That’s what I said,” Sophie muttered, but smiled crookedly back, curling one arm up around Howl’s neck, and threading her fingers through his hair.
“Ah, ah,” he said, pressing wet kisses to her neck that made her shiver. Reaching behind him, he took her hand away, and leaned back, laying a sensual kiss against her palm, and watching her with lazy, indolent green eyes. “You just get to lay back and enjoy, Sophie. I’m the one doing the seducing tonight, remember?”
“Mm. And do you think you’re man enough to handle that, Howl?”
Howl’s grin widened with heat and anticipation; he said, “Well when you say my name like that, I think I’m just about man enough to do anything,” and took two of her fingers into his mouth, tongue curling, teeth nipping at the tips. Sophie drew in a slow breath, because no matter that they’d been married for months, even the slightest touch, or casual glance, could make her pulse trip. She was ridiculously, painfully, embarrassingly in love with her husband, and couldn’t help reacting to him – with words or soft gasps, with answering looks and heat to match his.
He trailed soft, feather light kisses down her wrist, tongue tracing the veins in the crook of her elbow. His fingers teased the tops of her thighs, along her rib cage, rubbed circles in sweeping arches above her collar bones. His hair was cool silk trailing against the hand that she couldn’t keep still, that traced along his eyebrows and his cheekbones, cradled his head, couldn’t stop touching him.
He really is beautiful in the candlelight, she thought. He was bathed in golden light, lean and lightly muscled, and Sophie trailed her eyes along the line of his body, the curve of him over her, so worshipful; she felt herself drowning in the beauty of him, this impossible man who she’d come to love, with his impossibly tender heart.
“Hh-owl,” she said on a hitch of her breath as his teeth pressed lightly along the curve of her breasts, skirting around her nipples, and his fingers stroked through the red curls at her groin teasingly.
He leaned back, licked a long swathe up her neck that had her arching back for him. “Yes?” he said, quite smugly, and Sophie narrowed her eyes, and said back, “Get a move on it.”
Howl groaned in disgust. “Can’t you be at least a little romantic? For once in your miserably practical, precise, viciously domineering life?”
Sophie slid her knee up, and hooked a leg over his waist, laying one arm up behind her head, her fingers gripping the sheets. She said wickedly, “Talk like that will get you nowhere. Put that tongue of yours to better use, if you please.”
Howl sighed like the weight of the world was upon him, but he leaned down, pressed tongue and teeth to her nipple so that pleasure skittered through Sophie’s veins at a higher frequency. He hummed when she gasped, shifted beneath him.
“B, better,” Sophie said as primly as she could manage, and Howl nipped at her collarbone so that she jerked beneath him in reaction.
Then she was groaning, because his mouth traced out patterns on her skin, like he was speaking words of power, of passion and love straight into her so it sunk deep in bones and shook her steadily, and his fingers had finally slid between her thighs, against slick folds, and she had trained her husband very well, he knew just the right pace and pressure of thumb against her clit to make her hips start to roll, to make heat blossom in her belly.
Howl pulled back slowly, reluctantly, and leaned against his free hand over her, staring into her face, and Sophie knew, just knew he was about to say something embarrassing, and opened her mouth on a fractured glare to circumvent it, but just then Howl slid the edge of his nail against her and it sent pleasure ricocheting sharp and electric through her body so that she couldn’t find the shape of words in her mouth to speak.
And then Howl said, “You’re so beautiful when you’re not belittling me.”
Which was all the incentive Sophie needed to remember at least one word, laced with force, half sharp and half dissolved on the building pleasure he was wrecking on her body; “Howl!”
Laughing, Howl said, “But not half so beautiful as when you’re bossing me around, of course,” and leaned down to break her apart from the mouth down, with growling need and desperate force. He kissed her like there was nothing better in the entire world to be doing, and his fingers were quick and wicked between her legs until Sophie had to close her eyes and whine back in her throat.
She shifted, thrashed a little; broke the kiss and opened her eyes so she could demand, “In me! Do you- Do you want this baby or, a- ah!”
“Mm,” Howl said, pulling his fingers away and giving them a quick, lewd lick that made Sophie stare at him incredulously even in the midst of sex and blush a little. Howl grinned, and said, “You know I only do things I take pleasure in, my ferocious witch. And even the power you have over me can’t make me stop enjoying this as thoroughly as possible.”
Sophie reached up and gripped his hair in her hand and brought him back down for another kiss, taking his mouth by force and kissing him like she could pour all of her frustrated hunger into him and make him burn into obedience and loving his obstinacy, the way this beautiful man was so impossible and hers, absolutely hers. She rolled her hips up, against him, and he ground down, and she could feel his erection hot and hard against her, and she wanted him so badly she could taste it and trembled with it.
“Howl,” she whispered against his lips, curling the words from her tongue to his, “I love you, you- ah, you damned fool.”
“Ah,” Howl sniped back, “such sweet nothings. Just how I like it.”
Sophie snorted a laugh, and then it broke apart on a moan as Howl finally reached down to guide himself into her, to press his erection inside of her, slide in on a little wince of pain and a great shock of yes; he filled her up, his face twisting at the tight heat of her, and she planted her feet on the bed and angled up, to take him in better, her bare foot sliding against his sock covered one.
They couldn’t stop kissing anymore; Sophie wasn’t even sure when they’d decided it was more important than breathing, but they couldn’t keep their mouths away from each other, not even to properly cry out. Just swallowed them down and fed them back to each other, their bodies rutting in long, rolling thrusts against each other. Howl braced himself with his arms bracketed around her head and Sophie dug into his back with the nails of one hand and slid her shaky hand down the tensed muscles of her stomach, to rub against her clit, wanting to come so badly.
“Sophie, Sophie, Sophie,” Howl panted against her mouth, and Sophie whimpered, feeling ecstasy wind tight beneath her skin, feeling him stretching her and filling her, pressing pleasure through her with each sharp thrust of his hips. Her name sounded beautiful like that, painted in tones of love and desire in her husband’s pleasure soaked voice, and she wanted him to come, loved that she could make him come.
She told him, “Now, now, Howl, please. Ah! Ahhn, ngh.”
His breath hitched and shook on a quiet, ragged sound ripped from deep somewhere inside and he tensed, lost control over her as she tightened around him. Sophie came to the feeling of him inside her, a warm rush so deep it shook her even deeper into orgasm, took her breath and sanity away for one shining moment until her whole world was centered on nothing but Howl poised so beautifully above her in a grimace of pleasure. It shattered and flew away around her like a spell perfectly released and Sophie rode the high, drowned in the glory, teetering on the top of pleasure for long moments before sliding inexorably downward.
Howl collapsed on her, and it took her a moment to realize that he was heavy, too busy relearning how to exist inside her skin, trying to coax fragmented thoughts into place again. Then she said, “Urrgh,” and Howl snickered, and shifted to the side. Then he said, “Wai’ a minute.” and shifted to the other side.
“Howl,” Sophie said.
“Shh,” was Howl’s soothing response, his arms winding around her body gone soft and pliant and ever so perfectly warm, “you have to be on the left.”
Sophie thought about this a moment, the world shadows from the candles, and soft and gooey from afterglow, lingering pleasure-shock. Then she said, “What?”
“Mmn,” Howl said, snuggling deeper against her, throwing a leg over her – and he was still wearing his damned socks - and leaning his head against her shoulder, brushing sweat-damp red ringlets from her face, her neck, and breathing deep. “It’ll help us get the baby.”
Sophie rolled her eyes, decided she was too tired and pleased and comfortable to care about her husband’s nonsense. “Sure,” she said, and yawned. She smiled, and said, lightly, if a touch slurred, “And of course, if it doesn’t work, we’ll just try again.”
Howl laughed, soft and fond, and murmured sleepily against her, pulling the covers up languidly and almost as an afterthought as the air began to chill on their sweat dampened skin, “Mm, that’s my girl.” He kissed her neck, soft and full of love, and Sophie closed her eyes with a tender smile, fingers stroking gentle tracks over his hip, as they fell into sleeping.