Roxanne’s phone buzzes and chimes with her alarm. Alan awaits its first buzz. He inhales, catching and drawing out a snort as he opens his eyes and tries to roll toward Roxanne’s bedside. 

She clings to his back, preventing him from turning and reaching over to silence the blaring sound. Her exhale comes out more like a huff, warm on his bare skin, so he knows she’s conscious and fighting it. 

His wife leaves the alarm to blare for another drawn-out moment before she whimpers into his back and lets go of him to roll over to her other side, reaching to finally, finally stop the alarm. 

She doesn’t move to get up though, which is odd. Roxanne may hate an early wake-up call, but she loves her job more, and on any given day she forces herself to sit up, kick off the blankets with petulance to rival their daughter during a temper tantrum, and huff as she slips her bare feet into her slippers, before padding into their en suite to get ready. 

Today she just sighs and stays lying down, her head firmly on her pillow, blinking at the ceiling. The blanket remains tucked up under her arms, her body completely still. It makes Alan sad for reasons he can’t articulate. 

He shuffles towards Roxanne, and she doesn’t protest when he nudges her onto her side so that he can spoon her, wrapping his arm across her waist and stomach, his hand slipping under her camisole to feel her warm flesh, pressing a line of kisses from under her ear down to her shoulder, before tucking his nose into the crook of her neck, slipping his leg between hers. He doesn’t let any space remain between his chest and her back, hoping to transfer some of his warmth to her. “Good morning,” Alan rasps, his lips peppering warm kisses under her ear, breathing her in. 

Roxanne brings her shoulder up, tickled, then removes one of her hands tucked under her cheek to stroke his hand laying on her belly. 

“Good morning,” she rasps back, tipping her head back to knock against Alan’s forehead, and oddly enough, this is when he feels closest to her–when he can feel the husk of her voice vibrate in his chest because it so still and quiet, just them, in the gentle haze of the early morning light, pressed as close together as humanly possible, everyone else still asleep, expecting nothing from them. 

It never lasts as long as he wants it to. 

“You’re not going to work today?” 

Roxanne sighs, shifting, and Alan loosens his hold on her so she can turn to face him. 

The sun has already risen and the light streams past their curtains. He can make out her face, her eyes trained on his chest, a furrow between her brows, jaw tense, her fingers tracing his collarbones. 

Alan drags his fingers up and down the dip of her spine, waiting. 

“I don’t want to filibuster again,” Roxanne says, frowning. “It’s pointless. Everyone knows how this is going to end.” 

Alan hugs his wife tightly, pressing his lips on her forehead. Roxanne burrows her face into him and sighs. He knows she doesn’t mean it–there’s always a point to the things she does. It's just her exhaustion talking. 

On Monday, the Minister of Natural Resources moved an urgency motion for the Bill to expand pipelines, and Roxanne’s been in the House from nine in the morning till midnight every day since then. She came home that first night fired up with the adrenaline of a fight, the whiteboard in her office crammed with her plans for undermining the Government at the local level when the Bill inevitably passes. 

But it’s already been a long month of extended sittings and too little sleep. 

Alan’s been waiting for this low to appear. They’re all just holding on at this point, going through the motions, waiting for this long summer to end. Roxanne had proposed a long weekend at the end of August at their favorite retreat before Parliament dissolves and she’s buried under campaign things. He hopes Amanda doesn’t call an early election after this pipeline business is over. 

“I think you’ve been doing a pretty good job,” Alan pats Roxanne’s butt, and she gasps. “I read that the local communities appreciate what you guys are doing and it’s giving them hope that maybe their opposition to the expansions will come across to the Government.” 

“False hope,” Roxanne grumbles. 

“Hope is hope. And everyone knows the Coalition is only pushing it for leverage in the upcoming election. They’re getting their golf buddies to vote for them, sure, but you’re going to get the people to vote for you because they know your values,” Alan nuzzles his nose with hers. 

That isn’t exactly true. 

The press coverage for Roxanne’s party hasn’t entirely been positive. Some variation of ‘$288 million loss every day of delay’ is the headline every day, and Roxanne’s been getting mocked by the press for how much she brings up the “catastrophic future for our children” if the Bill passes–which irks the both of them since it was only a few months ago that the press was putting her on the front page, praising her for her opinions about children--and now it’s part of her portfolio to address the rights of children. Sometimes it feels like all the major newspapers have been bought out by the Prime Minister. He wouldn’t put it past the Coalition. 

But Laura’s playgroup parents and the ladies at the library like to tell him they’re impressed with his wife’s ethics, so Alan thinks her party’s doing a good job with what they have. What’s a little white lie?

Roxanne scoffs though, rubbing her face. “Nobody cares about values when someone waves billions of dollars in your face. I’m going to be out of a job come October and we won’t qualify for any benefits, so I hope you’re ready to sell your coaching services to the highest bidders even if they’re the shittiest teams you’ve ever seen because otherwise, we won’t be able to pay the mortgage on either house. Our baby will be traumatized from having to live in a car.” Roxanne groaned into Alan’s chest. 

He didn't think it was this bad. 

Roxanne had come home last night around quarter to one. She’d checked on Alan and their baby Laura, before disappearing into her office for another half an hour, which was when he’d gotten tired of sleeping alone and marched over to her office and closed her notebooks, switched off her desk lamp, and then dragged her to bed while she complained about preparing for tomorrow. 

It wasn’t unusual for Roxanne to get that way when stressed, hungry, and sleep-deprived, so Alan had let it go and just argued back about needing sleep until she gave in. 

Roxanne had changed into her pajamas and slipped into bed, tossing and turning until she was ready to let him hug her back. Alan hummed Laura’s lullaby, and she’d laughed a short laugh and turned to kiss his cheek. He’d grinned half asleep thinking he’d fixed the problem. Clearly, he hasn't. 

 ”Roxanne,” Alan pulls her hair back, “love,” he tugs at the ends gently to get her to look up at him. “The fate of the entire party isn't on you. Thomas fucked up the last election and that's why you don’t have the numbers you need for this Bill.” Roxanne shakes her head but Alan pats her thigh, “You just need to win London, and you've worked hard to make that a safe seat. It's going to be okay, I promise. Laura can still go to a private kindergarten and have a roof over her head,” Alan grins, his fingers pinching Roxanne’s hip. 

Her eyebrows pinch together. “You can't just say that.”

“Yes I can, I just did.”

“That doesn't make it true.” Her eyes search his. “I was meant to get Agnes and Todd to cross the floor,” Roxanne lowers her voice, “but I couldn't do it.”

Oh, that's probably why Roxanne was in a mood last night–beyond just the Bill having progressed to its second reading by the time he turned off the TV at eleven to go to bed. Alan presses his forehead to hers, taking a deep breath. “They run a tight ship. That was an impossible mission, to begin with.” He tucks a lock of hair behind Roxanne’s ear, but still, she frowns. “Was anyone else assigned to get people to turn?” 

“Everyone was.”

Alan arches his eyebrow. “I haven't heard of anyone from the Government changing sides, so everyone in the party is in the same boat as you.”

“But Agnes and Todd lead their factions within the Coalition. If I'd gotten them to come over, everyone else we talked to would have followed.”

Alan shakes his head, soothing his fingers along her back, “No one's going to want to look like a traitor with a hundred-something billion dollars on the line so close to the election.”

“I should have managed it,” Roxanne shakes her head, ignoring him, “I've done it before. I've already lost my touch, and it's only been one term.” She covers her eyes with her hands, digging her heels into her sockets. Alan has to tug on her wrists. Roxanne huffs, “I’m out of touch. They could replace me with a new poli sci grad and no one would be able to tell the difference because we’d be equally inadequate!” 

Alan clicks his tongue and slaps her butt. 

Roxanne jumps and slips her hand under his boxers to pinch his. “What the?” she grumbles.

Alan scrunches his nose as if he'd sniffed something bad. He really does hate politics. 

He can understand the desire to want to do something about all the things that are wrong in the world, but he doesn’t always understand how Roxanne can love it when it leaves her frustrated and upset more often than not–which in turn makes him frustrated and upset with everyone and everything because he has to watch his wife’s agony and not be able to do anything to make it easier for her. 

All that and for what? Nothing ever changes. 

Roxanne likes to say that little changes are worth the effort. That dirty feeling of compromising with the enemy just to achieve something, anything, to make life a little less terrible for someone needs to be done. And maybe his life would be so much simpler, a lot more peaceful if Alan didn’t have so much faith in her. But he does. So here they are, twenty-three minutes past six in the morning, rallying to restore faith in herself despite the shadow of impending defeat.

Alan rolls her onto Roxanne’s back, slotting himself between her legs, and pinning her hands on either side of her head. “Stop being mean to yourself.”

“I'm a realist.”

Alan knocks his forehead with Roxanne’s, leveling her with a determined look. “You,” he says, pressing a bruising kiss on her mouth, “are doing–” a kiss on her chin, “a really–” a kiss to her cheek, “really–” a loud, smacking kiss to her other cheek, “good–” an obnoxiously kiss to her eyelid that makes her shriek, “job.” He kisses her nose, then lets go of her hands now that Roxanne’s smiling. She settles them on his waist, dancing her fingers along Alan’s sides. He has to wiggle and shake her off. 

Alan then ducks his head and starts nuzzling Roxanne’s neck, a dozen kisses on the column of her throat, “Say something nice about yourself,” he tells her, his fingers tickling her sides. 

Roxanne flails around, laughing and batting her hands on his biceps until he starts tickling her. 

“Alan!” Roxanne yelps, tucking her arms to her sides. 

“Say something nice about yourself, Roxanne,” he blows a raspberry against the side of her neck, and she shrieks and tries to use her knees to kick him away but his hips keep her pinned down. “One nice thing and then I'll stop,” Alan runs his fingertips behind Roxanne’s knees and she shivers as she gasps.

“Fine! Fine!” Roxanne shakes her head on her pillow, messing up her hair even more.

Alan lifts his chest off of hers. “Well?”

“I have a lot of self-control because I haven’t punched anyone even though I’ve wanted to.”

Alan tickles her tummy this time, and Roxanne slaps at his hands, tucking her body into itself, futilely, to get away. 

“Something actually nice,” Alan warns pinning Roxanne again so that she can't escape, “Something really really nice, because you're the very best.” He presses his mouth to hers again and kisses her wet and sloppy so that she’ll giggle, and when he lifts himself onto his forearms to be nose to nose with her, her cheeks are flushed a healthy pink. He smiles. 

“Fine, okay!” Roxanne's eyes widen for emphasis, and then her hand comes down on his ass. 

He gasps, scandalized. Roxanne's nose scrunches up when she smiles.

He ducks down to blow another raspberry on her collarbone. 

“Gross! Alan!” She smacks his arm.

“I'm waiting, Roxanne.”

“I’m an intelligent woman who picked a good husband,” she tickles his hip before he can react, and he contorts, “because he reminds me that I try my best to act with compassion and principles even when the circumstances aren’t conducive for them.”

He smiles sweetly at her, leaning down to kiss her lips nicely, palm cupping her cheek. “Okay, I’ll take that. Good job,” he says when he draws back. “You are very compassionate and moral and smart. You’re a good person and a brilliant politician,” he kisses her nose, “with very high standards for yourself because you care so much about people,” he kisses her lips, “and I know you can’t see it because you’re in the thick of it,” he trails kisses along her jaw, “but you always manage to exceed even your expectations. I’m very proud of you.” He presses a lingering kiss on her forehead. 

“Even when the Bill passes with no substantial amendments and it ruins people’s lives?” Her lips pull down into a frown, her eyes betraying how upset it makes her.  

Alan leans down to press his lips to Roxanne’s, lingering and soft, chasing the frown away. When he draws back, he nuzzles the tip of his nose with hers, tickling her slightly, enough to get her to wrinkle her nose and her frown to break. “I’ll be proud of you even then,” he brushes her hair back from her forehead, and her arms wrap around him, “because you tried everything you could in an impossible situation, and I know you already have plans in motion to fight back in what ways you can because you’re a good person.” 

Roxanne pulls him down on top of her, and he keeps his knee under him so as not to crush her too much, but there’s enough of him over and around her for Roxanne to feel safe, to hide her face in the crook of his neck, his weight absorbing the shaking of her body. 

He swallows back the lump in his throat, blinking rapidly. “I know, Roxanne, I know,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to her temple that he can reach as his neck gets wet, her arms tightening over his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh. 

This never gets easier, no matter how many times they’ve been here before. He gets an arm under her shoulder blade to hug her closer, his other hand rubbing her bicep, her arms only wrapping tighter around him, her leg wrapping around his. He murmurs reassurances, sniffling quietly before he clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth. “I’m sorry, Roxanne,” he drops a kiss on her brow, “I know it’s hard.”

“It’s stupid,” Roxanne growls, shaking her forehead into his shoulder.

“The Government is stupid,” he lets his knee slip out under him, settling his full weight on top of her so that she can’t argue back and turn it on herself. He burrows his nose into the crook of her neck, “Bria is stupid, Jesse is stupid, Amanda is stupid,” he murmurs against her flesh as her shoulders shake, “their whole caucus is stupid. The city is stupid for letting dictatorships happen, and people are stupid for falling for their bullshit. But you are not stupid. You’re so much smarter than all of them, and that’s why you care so much.” He squeezes her tighter, trying to take away all of her sadness and anger, and disappointment, feeling her chest expand as her lungs take in more air. “You’re going to go to work and you’re going to hold them responsible for all the cruel things they’re doing. You’re going to keep holding them accountable, today and every day after.” He knows his wife. “And when the time comes, when those stupid people realize how bad things are because of the Bill, you’ll get the numbers you need to reverse everything.” He’s not sure he believes in what he’s saying. People’s stupidity knows no bounds. But Roxanne’s more hopeful than him when it comes to this. He’s choosing to believe in her. “The time will come,” he presses his lips to her temple, “it always does.”

“People could still die,” she frowns. 

He swallows. He knows. “That’s not on you. That’s on Amanda’s conscience. You’re doing what you can to help as many people as possible, but that’s all you can do with what you have, and that’s enough for now. I know you’re doing all the right things, and that’s enough.” He draws back, pressing his forehead to hers, his eyes watering instinctively at the sight of her tears. He clears his throat. “Do you believe me?” his voice cracks at the end. 

Roxanne sniffs, her forehead wrinkling, her eyes glassy as they’re trained on him. She doesn’t answer. 

He’s just going to need to make her believe. 

He knocks his nose to hers. “Well, if you won’t believe in yourself I’m going to have to do it for the both of us, and I’m more than happy to do that because I believe in you so much some people might even call it blasphemous,” she cracks a small smile, “but I’m getting old and doing it alone is going to break my back cause the weight of it equals at least four tons.” He extracts his arm from underneath her and drops his weight on top of her with an exaggerated huff. He feels her heart thump loudly as he squeezes a breath out of her too. “Roxanne!” he muffles into her neck, “Help! My belief in you doubled in the time you didn’t say anything and I can’t carry it around alone anymore or else I’ll get crushed.” 

Roxanne takes in a large gulp of air and sighs. “You’re not old,” she says seriously, taking his chin between her thumb and index finger and holding him still for a second to press a small, quiet kiss on his mouth. “You’re still sprightly.” 

Alan smiles a small smile. That’s something. 

He rolls onto his side, taking her with him until she’s curled into his chest, forehead pressed to his sternum, her fingertips rubbing at her eyes, erasing the evidence of her grief. He wishes he could protect her. He tugs on her wrists gently, “Whew! Thanks, Roxanne,” he presses his lips to the top of her head, lingering. “There’s no limit to what you can do.” He rubs steady circles on the small of her back. “What will you do today then?” She’ll feel a little bit better once she’s verbalized her plan. She’s probably already said some version of it to her team throughout the week, but reiteration keeps her accountable. She likes feeling accountable to someone other than herself. 

She sniffs then clears her throat, wiping her eyes one more time before she tucks her hand under her ear, and he mirrors her, reaching over to stroke her cheek for her. 

“What will you do today, Roxanne?” he repeats. And then he waits, watching her watch him with a searching gaze, her breaths coming out shorter than normal until her eyes lose focus and her lips start forming words, her voice a little hoarse, her forehead wrinkling as she tries to sort her thoughts in a chronological line. 

He hums in agreement with her run-on sentences, not interjecting to add anything because even when Roxanne asks questions, she answers them herself. 

He can tell when her tone shifts from defeat to analytic, to cautiously optimistic the more he rubs circles low on her back and nods encouragingly as she lays out her plans. She circles back twice to the same point about challenging the state’s right to use the land under the Constitution Act in the Supreme Court, before her voice returns to its usual steely determination, pragmatism returning to the set of her forehead. 

Alan smiles gently, almost sadly, brushing her hair back and massaging the back of her neck until her shoulders relax. It would be easier if she didn’t have to keep working around what Thomas might or might not feel worth the effort, but Roxanne is nothing if determined.

“That’s very thorough,” he smiles encouragingly, nodding, when she finishes, asking for his thoughts. “Will you bring up the Constitution today when the Bill goes to Select Committee?” He doesn't know all the details, but she'll make some sense of it.

“I’m not in it, but Carolina is and we’ve already talked about it so chances are that she will.” Her fingers go along the line of his collarbones. “But we’ll have to find a Constitutional expert very quickly to analyze for us, but I think Max has a friend at university who might be suitable.”

“That’s great!” 

“Yeah! But what we need right now to fight back against the press are economists who have enough credibility and following and the nerve to refute the bullshit the Coalition’s economists go on about.”

She’s back. He grins.

He doesn’t know of any economists other than Roger so he can’t offer her any help there. “I’m sure your colleagues have people in mind. Wasn’t Thomas a professor? He probably has economist friends.” 

Roxanne rolls her eyes and sighs, exasperated as always. “We’ll have to convince him it’s worth the effort first. He thinks filibustering is enough for now.”

“And you will.” He pats her back, scooting forward to bump his nose into hers. “You’re going to do great today. I’m very proud of you already.” For not giving in to hopelessness. 

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, her gaze grateful, her blinking hazily slow, he could count her lashes from here, even under the muted light. Whenever she looks at him like that, he feels like he’s accomplished his life’s work. 

She moves closer to twine her leg around his, her breath fanning across his cheek when she exhales. 

His eyes dart longingly to her lips before he looks over her shoulder to the clock on her bedside table. 

6:41. 

She surprises him when she leans forward and slots her lips over his, sweetly at first, softly, coaxing a quiet, contented sigh from him that runs through his whole body. Her lips are very soft, pliable, and grateful, pressed to his, his hand travels down her back to cup her ass, drawing her leg and draping it over his hip, pulling her closer to his front. 

He kneads the luscious curve of her ass, relishing Roxanne’s pleased hum and her hand moving to cup his cheek, tilting his face acutely so that she can open him up fully to the onslaught of her tongue, lapping against the length of his, before drawing back, only to come back to suck on the tip of his tongue. 

He groans involuntarily, his hand retracts then comes down on her flesh, feeling it ripple and warm under his palm. 

Roxanne gasps quietly, the seal of their lips breaking, her leg over his hip squeezing him–and she’s so, so warm, he groans to himself–and then her hand is in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp to draw him close again, he shivers, the sensation traveling down his spine, her lips capturing his bottom lip, kissing sweetly in contrast. He rocks against her instinctively, feeling himself throb and harden, wrapped around the tenderness of his wife. 

Maybe–just maybe–what Roxanne needs right now is to forget, at least momentarily, and lose herself to something good. 

Roxanne moans before she breaks their kiss. She lifts her head off their pillow to crane her neck and check on the baby monitor, breaking his trance. Then she looks him in the eyes, and he will say ‘Yes’ to anything she asks. “Can we–” she tugs on the waistband of his boxers, “please,” she sighs, “I need you.”

He's nodding before she's even finished her request, rolling her onto her back, taking her hand, and pinning it beside her head. He drops his forehead to rest against hers, their noses brushing, the corner of her lips tilting upwards, “Of course, Roxanne,” he brushes his lips over hers, ensuring she can feel him say his next words, “Let me take care of you, love, I've got you.” 

He slots his lips over hers again, and she opens herself up to him, his tongue brushing teasingly with hers. He positions himself comfortably between her thighs, pressing himself close, accepting the way she cants her hips to get even closer, feeling her warmth seep through the thin layers that separate them. He whimpers softly, sweetly, licking into her wet mouth and being rewarded with a buck of her hips, warmth flooding his veins. His fingertips trail down to graze her collarbone, the top of her breast, the tightened bud of her nipple over her silk camisole, down the line of her ribs, making her shiver underneath him, her hand gripping his hip tightly, out of breath and beautifully flushed as she pants his name again and again against his lips, interspersed with her pleas. 

He hasn’t even done much. He smiles to himself, letting her hand go to slip his hand under her camisole, wasting no time to cup the soft swell of her breast, a perfect weight in his palm, his thumb stroking the soft flesh of their underside, making goosebumps rise on her flesh. Roxanne grips his bicep, her nails digging in. He watches her mouth curve in a breathless gasp, her eyelids heavy with pleasure. 

Heat creeps up to his face, watching her, touching her–he can hear and feel his heart racing, his breath coming out in hot pants across her flushed chest. Nine years together like this and he’s still awed that they can still feel like this–that he can make her feel like this and take care of her when she can’t do it herself. 

His gaze shifts lower, to her nipples straining under the silk, begging for his mouth. He gnaws on his lower lip, his thumb inches higher to caress her areola. Will she appreciate teasing today, he wonders. 

“Alan,” his wife whimpers, her eyebrows pinched together, a hand reaches up to cup his jaw, the pad of her thumb running over his bottom lip, over the spot that he’d bitten raw. “Please,” her eyes shine, imploring his, “touch me. More,” she squeezes his arm, “use your lips,” she slips her thumb into his mouth, and he sucks on it by instinct, watching her bite down on her bottom lip.

He decides right then that he's going to give her everything she asks for and more. 

He pushes her camisole over her breasts, releasing her thumb from his mouth so he can pull the silk off all the way. And then his upper chest is flush to her abdomen before she can register the slight chill of the early morning, his hands splayed on either side of her ribs, his thumbs caressing the soft flesh of her breasts, he salivates before his lips descend on their underside, pressing soft, closed-mouthed and lingering kisses there that makes his cock throb with need. Roxanne moans, legs squeezing him, her hands finding their place in his hair, at his nape, urging him on.

He tilts his chin up so he can watch her, his tongue darting out for a taste of her skin on the underside of her breast, so Agneste and sensitive it makes her shiver–he gets over-excited, nudging her taut nipple with the tip of his nose, taking a deep breath in of her sweet smelling skin, circling her areola once before he can’t hold back anymore and laps at her nipple with the whole pad of his tongue. He repeats the same onslaught to her other nipple, Roxanne sighing his name happily above him, her mouth gaped, eyes closed, her fingers massaging his nape; the pad of his thumb replaces his tongue, rolling the tight bud surely as he wraps his mouth around her other nipple, pressing it to the roof of his mouth and sucking with just the right amount of pressure as he rocks his hard cock into her thigh–

“O–o–ooh, Alan,” Roxanne’s eyes clench shut, eyebrows furrowing, head rolling back, chest pushing up into his mouth. Her grip on his hair tightened. “Just–” her hips buck–” like that!”

His instinctual response is to continue to rock his hips into her thigh as he whimpers around her breast, a thrill shooting down his spine, his cock throbbing to the beat of his heart calling out for his wife. He pops off her breast, (“Alan!”) and switches to her other nipple, the tip of his tongue teasing the tight, pink bud with quick flicks, his exhales coming fast through his nose and tickling the flesh of her breast as he cups and caresses the underside of her other breast, moaning at the taste of her. 

Roxanne’s thighs tighten around him, and all he can feel, flushed to his abdomen, is the warmth of her flesh seeping through her underwear, so welcomingly warm and wanting. All he wants to do is bury himself inside her and feel her take him–consume him.

He loves playing with her breasts–so close to her heart, he thinks he can feel its beat pressed to his lips. He’s made her come before by just teasing her breasts, and then she’d make him straddle her chest and take his cock in her hand, in her mouth, pumping and sucking him until he spilled his cum all over her mouth and her chest–but that’s not his aim right now. 

His teeth graze her nipple, growling as he releases it and lifts himself on his arms to catch his breath and look at her, hair fanned and messy, cheeks flushed and her bottom lip caught under her teeth. 

Roxanne thrashes her head, “No!” She wraps her legs high around his waist, her nails digging into his biceps, willing him to come close again. “Alan, please,” she pants, leveling him with a needy look, her eyes wide and imploring. 

He blinks, mouth slightly agape, just staring at her in all her glory. How could she ever think she’s not good enough?

He takes too long to respond because one of her hands lets go of him to slip between them, inching under her sleep shorts. 

He gasps. 

“Roxanne,” he rasps out, “no.” He’s going to take care of her properly. 

Her thighs shake around him as she whimpers. “But Alan–” she runs a frustrated hand down her face, “Need you–inside–please!” 

He draws her hand away, crawling up her body a few inches to plant his pelvis in the cradle of her thighs, and he leans over her, slotting his mouth with hers again, greedily swallowing her moans as he rubs himself against her flesh. “Need you,” he breathes against her mouth, his tongue lapping at her bottom lip. Heat continues to build up in his lower abdomen, and he’s incapable of much besides, licking filthily into Roxanne’s mouth and immersing himself completely in her warmth, and her moans. 

But he knows he needs to take control of the situation soon before he comes in his pants. He needs to get his wife spent and boneless first, mind empty, mind cleared of her anxiety, blissfully unaware of how overworked and over-stressed she is outside of the walls of their home and the confines of their warm bed. 

Taking care of her like this when she feels helpless and he feels hopeless makes him feel like he’s doing something. And he hasn’t been able to–they haven’t had time since Monday when she got home late around half past eleven livid about the Bill. He’d fixed her up a snack while she complained about Bria. He ended up bending her over the dining table, her navy pencil skirt hitched up to her waist, the top three buttons of her blouse undone so he could slip his hand under the tops of her bra and play with her nipples; Roxanne’s hand, the one that wasn’t holding herself up on the wood, touching her clit exactly as he told her to, his lips pressed to the shell of her ear, panting his instructions, fucking her hard and deep and teasing to help her get her frustrations out, the wet sound of their coupling echoing in the still silence of their home, their cum leaking down her thighs when she fell back into his chest afterward, out of breath and boneless, her mind blissfully, blissfully empty. She slept so well that night. They both did, even though Laura woke up crying at three in the morning and ended up sleeping between them in their bed, kicking them throughout the night with her flailing limbs. 

Alan draws back from their kiss, and Roxanne whimpers with the loss, her head lifting off their pillow to try to follow him.

He looks down at her, dazed, her dark hair fanned on the pillow, cheeks flushed, eyebrows furrowed and her eyes, hypnotizing, pleading for him. He can smell her. He doesn’t remember why he pulled back in the first place. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head 

“How–How much time do we have?”

Roxanne covers her eyes with her hands, groaning, her head rolling to the side. 

He tugs on her wrists, and they fall on either side of her head. He cups her cheek, “Roxanne,” he taps on her jaw with his thumb, “how much time do we have?” He needs to know.

“I don't care,” she growls, her hand trails down his chest, her nails scratching lightly along his abs, and he moans, mouth-watering, widening his stance and dropping more of his weight on her, his chest flush against hers. Roxanne gasps excitedly. 

“Roxanne,” he groans into her neck, “when's your first meeting?”

“Eight thirty-five,” she huffs, hugging him to her, as if he’d go anywhere, “I can move my breakfast meeting to eight,” her nails scrape, slowly, teasingly, along the dip of his spine, and his abdomen quivers, he muffles a groan in the slope of her neck and grounds down on her, “I can leave at seven-thirty. We have time.” 

Alan hooks his arm under her back, taking her with him as he shuffles them closer to her bedside table, not missing her confused expression. He drops a kiss on her forehead. Then he grabs her phone and pushes it into her hands with urgency. “Send the email.” 

She unlocks the phone absentmindedly, mouth slightly gaped, licking her lips, eyeing his lips the whole time. 

He brushes his lips to hers, briefly, getting her to sigh, before he hovers his mouth over hers, “I'm going to take care of you,” he rasps, licking her bottom lip, “I'm going to give you what you need,” he kisses her forcefully and she whimpers and chases after him when he pulls back, panting, “but I can't do that if your phone rings halfway through.” 

Her thighs shake around him. 

He rolls off of her and lies on his back on his side of the bed to help her focus on her task, immediately missing her.

“Alan, ” she reaches out for him, “come back.”

He lays his hand on her thigh, turning his head to meet her pleading eyes. “You need to send the email first, Roxanne. I don't want anyone interrupting us.” His fingertips graze the soft flesh of her inner thigh, she feels so fucking good under the pads of his fingers. Roxanne squeezes her thighs around his hand, trapping him. He won't complain. 

Roxanne lets go of her phone to press her hands on the back of his wrist, pulling him closer to where she wants him, rocking her hips desperately to feel him. She closes her eyes, biting her lower lip. Her breath shakes when he flutters his fingers on her skin and inches a little higher. 

His chest is flush against her leg now, though he doesn't recall moving. He swallows thickly, watching her. “I want you all to myself, just for now.”

“I am all yours,” she returns, her fingers stroking through his hair. 

“I know, love, but remember when Lana called? The last time…” He slips his fingers under her shorts, running his finger along the crease between her thigh and her soaked pussy–Roxanne inhales sharply. When he withdraws them, much to Roxanne’s frustration, his eyes are trained on the moisture on his fingers. “I still can’t look her in the eyes when she talks to me.” The Junior Party Whip is old and deaf in one ear. They probably didn’t know what he and Roxanne were up to–but still. 

Roxanne flushes, the tips of her ears pink. She shuts her eyes tight and wrinkles her nose. And then she sighs deeply, but then she picks up the phone and starts typing, chewing on her bottom lip, already red and swollen. Her thumbs fly quickly over her screen.

He pushes himself up to sit against the headboard, taking a long moment before he can tear his eyes away from her face. He takes a deep breath, pressing a gentle hand down on his cock and squirming, willing himself to get under control. He tries to focus on his breathing, to slow his pounding heart, but it’s hard with Roxanne so close. He squeezes his fists. He needs to be patient. 

He takes a few more deep breaths, doing his utmost to ignore his own needs before he grabs the baby monitor and checks on their baby on the screen. Laura’s chest rises and falls steadily as she sleeps on her side, her thumb in her mouth. When he’s sure the baby is still sleeping soundly, he returns the monitor to its place on his nightstand. 

He has nothing left to do but wait for Roxanne, watching as a wrinkle forms between her eyebrows as she reads over what she’s written, rewriting something with shaky hands, a paragraph it seems until she’s satisfied. He’s going to make her feel so satisfied. 

He can't take it though–seeing her flushed chest and face, nipples straining against the fabric of her top; inhaling that intoxicating scent of her flesh–and not being able to touch. Even though it's self-imposed. He takes off his boxers then, just to relieve some of the pressure on his cock. 

His hand rests on his lower abdomen, stroking teasing circles on his heated flesh, just to get himself ready for Roxanne–but it's too much already. His thighs tense and he groans, he has to wedge his hands under his thigh, turning desperate eyes to his wife, begging her to hurry. 

But Roxanne has paused her typing to watch him, trying and failing to swallow back her moan, her thighs squeezing together tightly. 

He's going to need to hurry her up, for both their sakes.  

He crawls the short space towards Roxanne, a playful smile tugging on his lips. He ends up hovering above her, his hands on her thighs, sliding up to her hips, listening to her breath hitch. His fingers toy with the elastic of her shorts. “Finished writing, Roxanne?” 

It takes her a moment to respond, shaking her head, her eyes quickly slipping back down to the phone in her hands, her typing slower than before because she keeps stealing glances at him, at his cock bobbing between them.

His fingers trail the curve of her waist, back down to her hip, dipping under her shorts to brush his thumbs on her hip bones, and Roxanne raises her hips to his hands, her breath quickening with every touch. He could lick her flesh right now, he thinks, his eyelids hooded as he watches her react to him–get her ready for his cock when she’s finished with her work. He glances up at her expression, her bottom lip caught under her teeth, her chest heaving as she watches him. He smiles at her, decision made, his fingers tugging her sleep shorts and her panties down her thighs, “Don’t forget to tell Kilda you need Max to get in touch with his friend immediately.” 

He throws her bottoms to the foot of the bed, his hands on her knees, thumbs caressing their inside.

“Tha–Thank you, sweetheart,” she breathes, her phone pressed to her chest as she watches him. 

He parts her thighs gently, watching her inhale sharply, the both of them listening to the obscene wet sound of her pussy parting and then clenching around nothing. His grip on her knees tighten, pinning them down onto the mattress, exposing her fully to his gaze, his full attention fixed on her fluttering pink folds, dripping her wetness onto their sheet. 

His heart skips a beat. He inhales deeply. His mouth waters. 

He eases her back down onto her pillow by her shoulder, taking his chance now while her hands aren’t working to slip her camisole over her head, tossing it in the same direction as her shorts. 

And she’s so beautiful. 

He crawls down her body, Roxanne practically vibrating with need underneath him, one of her hands weaves into his hair as his lips begin to trail up the drenched inside of her thigh, lapping up the salty sweetness of her arousal. 

“Alan.”

Her skin is hot under his lips. 

He sucks marks on the pale flesh of her thighs, soothing them with his tongue after, humming to himself, pleased. No one but him can see. These are just for them. 

Her reactions are muffled to him, her thighs pressing in around his head and over his ears, but he registers her fingers releasing their hold of his hair, and he mourns their loss briefly, but then his mouth hovers over her wet, pink flesh, his moist breath setting off her walls to clench, waiting, wanting. He groans at the sight, his whole body shivering, he grounds himself into the mattress to relieve some of his aches.

He buries his face into her pussy like a man starved, parched, deprived–his hands on her hips bringing her up to him, Roxanne’s heels digging into his back to help him. He salivates with the first touch of his tongue with her flesh and he growls, positively animalistic with need, opening his mouth up to consume her. He slips his tongue inside her,  burying it as deep as he can go, feeling her hips buck into his face and her whole body convulse. He flutters his tongue against the soft sponge of her walls, his nose nuzzling against her engorged clit before he retreats, swallowing her juices, before he repeats it all, moaning when he feels her slick dripping down his chin. He'll never get tired of the taste of her.

He has to let go of her hip and wrap a hand around himself, pumping his cock once from the base to its tip with a shudder, licking sloppily along the length of his wife’s pussy as he keens, losing himself momentarily to ecstasy. 

He draws back momentarily, licking his lips, Roxanne’s juices smeared all over his face, and Roxanne gasps and cries, her phone dropping on her chest as her hands dart out to grip his hair. 

“Alan,” she cries, “please. I need–”

He dips his head to suck on her clit.

Roxanne screams. 

He grounds down onto the mattress and slips a finger inside her pussy, feeling her tighten around it desperately, so hot and wanting–he groans. 

“Tastes so good, Roxanne,” he laps at her flesh, “all for me, hmm.” He adds another finger inside her, crooking his fingers come-hither along her front wall slowly, the tip of his tongue flicking her clit at the same leisurely pace, he breathes in sharply through his nose, neck growing tense as sweat beads on his brow as he watches his fingers disappear inside her. “You ready for me, love?” he grunts out, his cock leaking on their sheets as he rolls his hips into the bed, “Yeah? You want my cock inside you?” he pants, his fingers moving with a little more urgency as Roxanne’s breath hitches, her mouth permanently gaped, her chest rising off the bed, fingers fisting his hair, her heels digging into his back it’s almost painful. “Yeah you do,” he suckles on her clit, getting her to writhe and cry. “I’ll take care of you so well, Roxanne, make you feel so much better, so good, yeah,” he tries to lap up all the juices that leak out of her, and he hums as he does, willing Roxanne to feel the vibration in her flesh. 

When he starts to feel the beginning of a flutter, he withdraws his fingers. He plants his hands on either side of her hips, his head raised to watch her thrash and scream.

“Alan!” she sobs. 

The next thing he knows there’s a thud on the carpet and Roxanne’s pulling him up, bringing his mouth down to hers, licking into his mouth, tasting his tongue. Her hand cups his jaw, swiping at the evidence of her arousal. His eyes roll to the back of his head, his weight collapsing on top of her with no finesse. 

She’d thrown her phone away. 

Now, her wet hand slips between them, wrapping firmly around the thickness of his cock, the pad of her thumb teasing his frenulum, and he thrusts into her hand, breaking their kiss to gasp. ”Roxanne.”

“Inside,” she commands, “now.” Her eyes beseech him, almost crying, her other hand splayed over his ass, grabbing a fistful forcefully, and his breath catches; her back arches to press herself closer to him, her erect nipples and the softness of her breasts pushing themselves to his chest; he can feel her pulse in her flesh, pressed deliciously flush to his cock. He doesn’t know where to focus. 

He lifts himself off of her. “I’m right here, Roxanne,” he says when she cries and reaches out for him. He just needs to press her thigh to the mattress– yes, just like that, Roxanne’s head thrashes on her pillow when the relatively cool air of their bedroom touches her flesh, clenching around nothing, seeking warmth–and bringing one of her legs over his shoulders, opening her up to him. 

She looks breathtaking, reaching for him, and he leans down to press their chests together, chest to chest as she loves, her arms wrapping around his neck, his forearms on either side of her, the two of them panting heavily, hearts beating together erratically. 

“Alan.”

He kisses her temple tenderly before he lets go of her thigh, taking a hold of his cock to slide against her flesh, slicking himself up. They don’t need it. The both of them are so wet that she could easily take his girth, but he just needs a moment–needs to get himself under control. He already feels lightheaded. 

Roxanne’s head rolls back with a wordless cry. 

When the head of his cock slips inside her hot, warm flesh, Roxanne gasps, eyes fusing shut, her mouth parted, his name halfway formed as her breath gets caught in her throat, chest arching into his–like this is their very first time together all over again. 

He loves this. 

His thighs shake, and he bites his lip hard and numb to control the volume of his long, low groan as he slips another inch inside her, her walls tightening as she takes him; he loses his breath. He has to widen his stance on the bed to hold himself up. He enters her slowly, measuredly, smiling distractedly to himself when her hips follow him, before he pushes in just a little bit deeper, feeling her flesh gush because of him. He catalogs her moans and her whimpers, her breath hot on his neck, the sweat on their skin mingling, her nails digging into his shoulder blades, his name gasping from her lips. 

When his pelvis is flush to hers, his cock fully encompassed by her, he stills. He looks down where they’re joined, and he swears he can see the outline of his cock under the soft curve of her lower abdomen–and he twitches inside of her, a convulsion running through his body–he buries his face in the crook of her neck, taking a deep inhale, closing his eyes tightly, counting to ten in his head as Roxanne’s arms tighten around his shoulders, her fingers card through his hair and caress the back of his neck, fluttering her walls around him purposefully and sighing happily, happy to be full. 

He nudges his nose to hers, getting her to tilt her chin and meet his mouth, their tongues more sloppy than anything as they savor the feeling of him inside her again. 

He’ll never get tired of this. Of her wet pulsing walls, him so deep inside her, clenched tightly around him, like she never wants to let go, like he’s all she has or will ever need; her arms pulling him in, trying to get even closer, her heart beating loudly, so loudly, so alive, against his. 

“Missed you,” she breathes when they break their kiss to catch their breaths. 

He brushes his lips to hers so that she can taste his words and feel them. “I love you.” He doesn’t have the mind to think of or say anything else. 

Roxanne moans, shivering. 

He lifts himself onto his forearms, slipping out of her so that he can see her juices smeared all over him, relishing the way her hips chase him, the needy way she says his name. He closes his eyes as they roll to the back of his head. And then he lays his weight on top of her again, so that there’s no chance of her getting cold, and he thrusts into her, his whole thick length nearly splitting her open, her warmth enveloping him. 

“Alan! ” Roxanne’s head falls back onto her pillow, and her flesh quivers around him like she could cum right then. 

The pleasure shoots up the length of his spine. He tenses for a moment, trying to get himself under control, sweat dripping down his nose. 

“I’ve got you, Roxanne,” he grits out, rolling his hips into hers slowly. 

He establishes their rhythm: a drawn-out, slow retreat, his tip the only thing left for her flesh to grip, pausing for a maddening second to hear her inhale and see his cock drip with her juices, before he fucks into her hard and deep, as deep as he can go, their headboard thumping against the wall, and she groans and fists his hair, crying his name, her hot, sopping flesh tightening firmly around him, he gets light-headed, out of breath and hot in his face, feeling her all-encompassing warmth, their juices a wet mess between them, on their thighs, on their sheets. He burrows his face in his favorite place along the side of her neck, breathing in her skin and her sweat, he can feel her pulse thrumming under his lips, so alive and powerful.

He whispers things to her, filthy things he barely registers himself saying, about the way her flesh feels around him, how well she takes him, how beautiful she looks laid out, lost to lust and need and love. 

“How–how does i–it feel, Roxanne?” he grounds and circles his hips against her flesh before withdrawing only a couple of inches before he fucks into her again, pushing her higher up the bed with the force of it, “Fuck–” he brings a hand down on the side of her ass, “feel so perfect–” he presses her knee back down on the bed when her thighs start to shake and she tries to wrap them around him, “so hot, love, so wet, Roxanne,” he grinds his teeth when he has to work to thrust inside her. “Want to feel you cum, love,” His mouth descends on her neck, tasting her sweat, mouthing kisses on her flesh, “You want to cum, Roxanne?” 

But Roxanne can only gasp, her mouth forming unintelligible words. He loves when he can make her forget how to use words. 

He leans on one shaky arm to pinch her nipple, rolling it between his fingers, “Wha–what d–do you need?”  

It takes another prompt and another hard pump of his hips before she regains the use of her tongue. 

“More,” she says, “Right there, Alan,” her heel digs into his back when his cock hits just the right spot inside her, trying to get him to go faster. She’s so close. ”Right there, Alan!” 

Their bed frame groans underneath them as he fucks her hard and fast and deep, his muscles aching as he takes care of her, letting her fist his hair, the ache of it overridden by how complete he feels inside, over, around her, letting her beg, goading her on by slowing his hips, so that she can’t think of anything else but the two of them together. Until all he can hear is her broken breath, his name stretched out into more syllables than he can presently count, and the loud pounding of his heart in his ears. And then he reaches down and touches her clit, thumbing firmly at the same pace of his thrusts, and Roxanne could cry from the relief, the timbre of her long moan along with her fluttering walls makes him tense again. He closes his eyes tightly and wills himself to hold on just a little longer for her. 

“Are–are you– fuck --close, Roxanne?”

“Yes!” 

His eyes are on her breasts as they bounce with the force of his thrusts, her hard nipples begging to be sucked. He needs his mouth around them right then. He tries to move down her body just a little, but he can’t–not if he wants to keep burying himself as deep as this. He whimpers. 

“Touch yourself, Roxanne,” he says instead, “touch your nipples for me, Roxanne,” he says with urgency, “touch yourself– yes, love!” Roxanne screams and he fucks her hard and steady, “Just like that,” he pants, her fingers pinch their tip, rolling them between her fingers, and he grounds down into her harder to reward her, he feels the pleasure roll down his spine, his toes curling, he stills momentarily inside her to just feel. 

“Ye-e-eah,” he grunts, his thumb on her clit still slow, but firm, so firm, and Roxanne’s losing her mind, her breath erratic, her hair a mess as she thrashes, her heart pounding against her ribs. She whimpers for him, the tips of her fingers flicking her nipples, and he pants out his breaths as he starts getting light-headed again, feeling her clench around him, “Fuck, Roxanne,” he speeds up his rubbing of her clit, the sweat from his forehead dripping onto her chest, “you’re so cl-close, aren’t you, Roxanne.”

“Ye-essss!”

“Will you cu–cum for me, Roxanne?” He can already feel her orgasm coming, that familiar tight flutter of her walls, drawing him in and refusing to let go. He can’t help losing his rhythm, fucking into her erratically, losing his last semblance of control. He can’t help it, not while she looks like this, feels like this, takes him like this.

“Make me cum,” Roxanne cries and pinches her nipples, her legs tightening around him. “Make me cum, love, make me cum!” her hips chase after his. 

He buries his face into the curve of her neck, the spot reserved just for him, and he sucks a mark on her Agneste flesh, fucking into her with no abandon, short thrusts all he can manage, his thumb rubbing hard and quickly over her clit. His skin tingles and goosebumps are all over his sweat-soaked skin. He muffles his moans against her flesh.

“Cum for me,” he pants, dropping his whole weight on top of her, his forearms on either side of her shoulders barely holding him up, her thighs shaking, her lower abdomen quivering against his shaking stomach, “Let me feel you,” he gasps, and then Roxanne’s walls are constricting around his cock, clenching around him so magnificently, squeezing his last breath out of him before he comes with no warning, spurting his cum inside the welcoming warm, wet depths of her flesh, his vision blinding, his head empty but for the sound of Roxanne’s breath, trying to gasp his name, and the feeling of Roxanne, her arms, her legs, her flesh, clinging tightly to him as her orgasm draws out, his pelvis rocking instinctively into hers as he groans long and low against her neck, his skin tingling as a convulsion runs down his spine. 

He feels so weightless, so whole, so spent.

He collapses on top of his wife. 

Their minds blissfully clear as they catch their breaths, Alan listens to Roxanne’s heart slow down to its normal rate as he softens inside of her.  Sweat cools on their skin, her legs splayed flat on the mattress, her arms around his shoulders, hands playing with his hair as his head lays on her chest.