Work Text:
HANNAH
The twins are 9 weeks old when I finally cave and text Sabrina.
To: Sabrina James (Tucker)
Me: Can I ask you a weird personal post-baby sex question?
SJT: Of course! But I'm not drawing Garrett any diagrams. If he couldn't find your clit before, it hasn't moved since the twins were born.
SJT: Also, if he couldn't find your clit before, I'm VERY disappointed in him.
Me: No, no. No worries there. He's very, um, attentive to that particular location.
SJT: Good.
SJT: Ok, ask away, then!
Me: Did Tucker...stop paying attention to your boobs while you were breastfeeding Jamie?
SJT: What, does G just, like, stare at you while the twins are nursing?
Me: Hang on. I'm saying it wrong.
Me: I mean, like, in the bedroom. During sexy times. Because Garrett used to be all over my boobs. He wouldn't stop touching them. And now since the twins, he, like, pointedly avoids them. And idk.
SJT: Hmm.
SJT: To answer your initial question, no, Tuck never did that. Though, we weren't having a ton of sex leading up to or right after Jamie was born, so I think he was all pent up and taking whatever he could get when we did.
SJT: But honestly, Garrett probably feels weird about sexualizing the things that feed his children.
Me: Ugh motherhood has made me an crusty, unsexy hag! I knew it!
SJT: Slow down, Hannah! I don't think Garrett could ever find you unsexy. In his man brain he's being respectful of you as the mother of his children.
SJT: Your boobs are doing something so much bigger than just being pretty things for him to look at now. If you want him to be more handsy, just tell him. He liked your boobs pre-babies, so I guarantee he still likes them now.
Me: You're probably right. The whole leaky breast situation just kind of puts a downer on sex, too. It's like as soon as we remember how good sex used to be, BOOM, breast milk. And then the moment's gone, and we need to get a towel, and it's a whole thing.
SJT: You guys need a babysitter and a night out, stat!
SJT: Also pump right before you do the deed. You're less likely to leak everywhere if the milk bags are empty.
Me: I know, but neither of us want to leave Gigi and Wyatt 😭
Me: Did you just call my boobs "milk bags"?
SJT: Listen, this is a weird conversation. I'm just trying for some levity.
Me: Fair. Sorry for springing this on you. You're just literally the only person I know who would get it.
SJT: You could ask Tuck. Get the man's perspective. He and Garrett lived together for 4 years. Surely he has some insight.
Me: You want me. To ask your husband. Why my fiancé. Isn't sucking. My nipples. During sex anymore?
Me: I think that would ruin him, S.
SJT: Oh G is THAT kind of boob guy.
SJT: Yeah then it makes 100% more sense why he's weird about your boobs now.
SJT: But I stand by what I said. Just tell him what you want. If he's half the man I think he is, he'll want to, ah, satisfy you in that regard.
To: Garrett Graham Baby Daddy 👶👶 /Fiancé 💍 /loml ❤️
Me: You can touch my boobs, you know.
GG: Hannah, please tell me this was meant for me and not your side piece.
Me: Of course it was meant for you!
Me: Also, I don't have a "side piece"!!!!!!!!!!
GG: Ok great. Still confused. I can touch your boobs?
Me: Yes
GG: Was I previously NOT allowed to touch your boobs?
GG: With like consent, obviously. Not like when you're sleeping or anything.
Me: Babe, I'm gonna be blunt. You haven't had your mouth on my nipple since I was 33 weeks pregnant and started leaking milk.
GG: ...
GG: You've been counting.
Me: Yes!! Garrett, it's been months! Imagine if every time we had sex you were still half hard and horny afterward. Like all you needed was a blow job to not feel like your skin was crawling, and I just wouldn't for some reason.
GG: "Half hard and horny" ... You just described what it's like being with you for the last 5 years.
GG: I'm always horny for you, baby.
Me: Don't sweet talk me right now, Garrett. I'm exhausted and embarrassed, and you're 30,000 miles over God only knows what state right now, and I'm so fucking horny I could scream.
GG: I think it's Kansas
GG: Why are you embarrassed, baby?
GG: There's nothing embarrassing about asking for what you want.
GG: I wanna make you feel good, baby. I'm so sorry I haven't been. I didn't realize.
Me: No you HAVE. That's the thing. Oh my God, G. You've been so good and so patient with me and my hangups about my body this whole pregnancy and post-partum. That's why it feels so petty to care about this. But I do.
GG: What are you doing right now?
Me: Honestly?
GG: Always
Me: Sitting in the living room while the twins nap thinking about masturbating to take the edge off
GG: Good
GG: You should do that
GG: And let me help
Me: Babe, you're on a plane. Don't think the Mile High Club works that way. Besides, we punched that ticket years ago.
GG: I want you to go upstairs and get that little rose toy you like so much on your clit and use it on your nipples and pretend it's my mouth.
Me: ...
Me: Deal
I do exactly what Garrett suggested. The baby monitor in-hand, I tiptoe past the sleeping twins' room and pray that they'll stay asleep long enough for me to get off. I'm wound so tight that I don't think it'll take long.
From the nightstand on my side of the bed, I grab the rose-shaped vibrator and, just for kicks, the bottle of cooling lube. We got into toys Garrett's first year in the league, when away games and packed schedules necessitated some creative virtual sex, and the cooling lube on my nipples literally makes my toes curl. I can't wait to pair it with the vibrator.
I strip off my shirt and nursing bra and put a few drops of lube on each of my breasts.
The cooling sensation is almost immediate, and I hiss at the contact. My nipples are rock hard; my panties are wet just from Garrett's texts, and, frankly, I don't have the patience to tease myself, so I grab the vibrator, hold it up to my right nipple, and turn it on.
Fuck, the sucking sensation sends a bolt of electricity from my breast straight through my body to my core, and I'm picturing Garrett's smug smile and sparkling gray eyes if he could hear the sounds I'm making right now.
"Let me hear you, Wellsy," he'd drawl. And he'd flick my nipple with his tongue just like the vibrator is doing now.
I slide my free hand under the waistband of my leggings and find my clit. I brush my fingers against it lightly enough to draw a gasp from my mouth, imagining it's Garrett's big fingers eliciting that pleasure-pain sensation, that it's Garrett's fingers pressing harder now in time with the circles of his tongue around my nipple, that it's him slipping inside me without any lube because I'm so, so wet and—oh shit.
My orgasm comes fast and hard with Garrett's face dancing among the stars on the back of my eyelids.
Fuck, I needed that.
I give myself a second to steady my breathing and take stock of my situation. Orgasm? Check. Babies still napping? Check. All I'm missing is Garrett's warm body collapsing next to mine, and I would be one satiated woman.
I text him to let him know.
Me: Dude, I forgot that that vibrator is almost as good as your mouth.
GG: Done already, Wellsy? That was quick
.
GG: You usually have full access to my mouth, so I'm not surprised you've forgotten.
Me: Just Round 1 😉 How long until you're home and I can stop settling for second best?
GG: We land in a couple hours. I'll be in our bed by 10.
Me: How would you feel about getting a sitter tonight?
Me: I want to be loud, G.
GG: Fuuuuuuuuuuck, baby. You can't just say shit like that. Logan's gonna see my boner and assume we're sexting.
GG: Oh don't worry, I'll find a sitter.
Me: We are kind of sexting. There's very little that's hotter to me than you telling me you'll arrange a babysitter.
GG: What about if I told you that I've been dreaming about your tits for months, that I can't wait to get you naked so I can taste them and roll your perfect hard nipples around on my tongue? Or that I'm going to slide my wet cock between them and make them sticky with my cum?
Me: Yep ok. That's hotter.
Me: Can you make that pilot fly any faster?
GG: I'll be home soon, baby. In the mean time, why don't you see how many more times you can come for me?
Me: 😳
Me: 👍
GARRETT
I don't even bring my bag inside when I get home. I just waltz in the front door with Logan on my heels. Grace is already inside with Hannah and the twins.
"The men have returned!" I announce with more swagger than I feel. Physically, I'm beat from a weekend series and 2 days’ worth of travel. But, mentally, I'm so jazzed about getting Hannah into a hotel room and then getting my dick into her.
"The men got their asses handed to them by Vegas," Hannah teases. She's standing in the kitchen holding Wyatt on her shoulder; she’s probably been walking around to settle him down. I shrug and bend down to kiss her, and she kisses me back, like always.
Yeah, we lost. And yeah, Coach was pissed. But since the twins were born, hockey doesn't affect me the same way. Not like "I don't care anymore," and not like it isn’t the thing I want to make a career out of—but I'm not going to lose any sleep over these losses like I would have a couple years ago. We played like shit, and we lost. We'll put the work in, find our mojo again, and win more games. I've still got 10 seasons left in me, easily. Some of them will be electric, Stanley Cup-winning seasons; some of them we won't even make playoffs. But, regardless, I'll always come home to Hannah and Wyatt and Gigi, and I'm so fucking pumped for that.
With that in mind, I ease Wyatt out of Hannah's arms and into mine. The pediatrician is happy with how he's been gaining weight since he was born, but I'm always taken aback by how tiny he still looks. "Hey, little man," I say. "I missed you. Have you been giving Mama a hard time?"
Hannah's face melts into the soft one she reserves for me and the babies. "No, he's been good. A little spit-uppy this morning, but he seems to be doing well tonight. If you want to see a hard time, go speak with your daughter." She gestures to the breakfast nook where Grace—and now Logan—sits with Gigi nestled in the crook of her arm.
"Oh, so she's my daughter now." I quirk an eyebrow to ask for more details. Hannah always calls Gigi "your daughter" when she's been especially cranky.
"If you put her down, she screams," Hannah says flatly. "If someone picks her up that she didn't want to pick her up, she screams. If you try to hold her and Wyatt simultaneously, she screams." Hannah sighs in resignation. There's nothing more to say. Gigi Tuesday Graham was born with a fully developed set of lungs, and she's made us aware of that fact every day of her short life. My girl knows what she wants.
I chuckle and wander over to Grace and Logan. Gigi seems to be sleeping, and after Hannah's comment, I can only guess how long that took. "You look good with her," I whisper.
Grace looks up, her gaze bouncing between me, Gigi, and Logan. I don't know if or when kids are in their future, but I stand by it: they look great with a baby. Relaxed. Comfortable. Content. They'd be good parents.
"Thanks for agreeing to watch them tonight, man," I continue, turning to Logan. "Hannah and I just have to get some time alone."
"No worries, dude," Logan says. He waggles his eyebrows at me. "We love these little cockblocks."
I see Grace stiffen, but she doesn't move in fear of waking Gigi. "John!" she hisses.
Logan smacks a kiss on his wife's cheek. "C'mon, Gracie. You know it's gotta be bad if G and Wellsy are dipping out tonight. They haven’t let the twins out of their sight since they were born."
I chuckle. "They are a full-time job," I agree. There are some things my best friend doesn't need to know, and one of them is that I'm the cockblock this time. Or maybe the pussyblock? The boob-block? Either way, I figure it's okay for my infants to take the blame. I'm sure it's a self-fulfilling prophecy anyway.
"And it'll be good practice," Logan murmurs, looking down at Gigi. He traces a finger down her tiny cheek. I don't know if that comment was meant for me or for Grace or just for himself, but I don't respond; I just file that nugget of knowledge away.
Then, Hannah pops over to our side of the kitchen, an overnight bag on her shoulder. I smirk thinking about what she may have packed in that bag.
"Okay, Grace, Logan. You know where everything is. Help yourselves to food—"
"He always does," I cut in under my breath.
"—there are bottles in the fridge that should get you through nighttime feedings and breakfast. If not, there's formula in the cabinet, and they'll take that just fine."
Grace and Logan nod as Hannah continues her Mom Speech. Honestly, it's kind of hot. My fiancée is a MILF.
"If anything happens that feels weird, please call us. We won't be mad, I swear. My parents' number and our pediatrician's cell phone number are both on the fridge, too. And Garrett has called Dr. Ingram like 5 times in the last 2 months, so don't feel awkward about it."
"Hey!" I exclaim. "She told us we could call her about anything. How was I supposed to know those bumps on the back of her head were lymph nodes? I'm a hockey player with a history degree, Wellsy! I don’t even know where my lymph nodes are!"
"So don't feel bad if you need to call her," Hannah repeats, as if I’ve just proven her point. Which, shit. I guess I did. But I refuse to feel bad about inquiring about my children’s health.
"Thanks, Hannah," Grace smiles, "but I'm sure everything will be fine."
"I know, I know. I'm just nervous. And we'll just be on the other side of town, so we can come back if—"
"No, absolutely not," Grace says. "Hannah, you deserve a night off. Go have some grown-up fun." She winks. "Or at least get a full night's sleep. We'll all be perfectly fine here."
I think the promise of "grown up fun" finally convinces her, because Hannah nods and places a quick kiss on Gigi and Wyatt's foreheads. I hand off Wyatt to Logan—a fucking surreal experience, because I just put my defenseless flesh and blood in the hands of man I once watched set a shrub on fire with a bottle rocket—and we almost make it to the garage before Hannah's maternal nerves kick in again.
"Shouldn't we have just called my parents to watch them? Isn't Logan exhausted from the game?"
I snort. "There's no way I was going to ask your parents to babysit at the last second because I wanted fuck their daughter."
Hannah looks torn between being horrified and turned on, but the latter must win out, because she just swallows thickly and throws her bag in the back of the G-Wagon.
“God, I hope no man ever thinks the things about Gigi that I’m thinking about you right now,” I say as we get into the car.
“That’s a bit hypocritical,” Hannah teases.
“Yeah, but I love you, Wellsy. I’m marrying you.”
“You were thinking these things about me long before we were engaged, Garrett.”
I grin. “Since the moment I saw you, baby.”
“You know I only let the objectification slide because I know it’s a front, right?”
“How do you know I’m thinking objectifying thoughts, Wellsy?” I say as I head down our street and toward downtown. “Maybe I was thinking about the two of us wearing ratty sweats in a fancy hotel and spending a shit-ton of money on champagne and French fries.”
“And why wouldn’t you want someone spoiling our daughter like that some day?”
That gives me pause. “Okay, fine. Maybe my thoughts have been a little objectifying this evening. But, in my defense, champagne was part of the plan! I just want to lick it off your tits,” I confess.
Hannah splutters, and, after all these years together, I love that I’m still able to catch her off guard sometimes with how badly I want her—how bad I’ve always wanted her and will always want her.
At the stoplight, I turn to her, a wild smile threatening to split my face in two.
“Don’t tell me that’s got you hot and bothered, Wellsy. Champagne boobs is, like, the most vanilla thing we could do tonight.”
Hannah sighs. “Garrett, I’m horny enough that ‘champagne boobs’ sounds indecent.”
Still driving, I put my right hand on her thigh, inching it toward the hem of her shirt. “Do you want an appetizer, baby? We could start now. Take the edge off.”
“Try that and I will literally orgasm on the spot.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, babe.”
The traffic in downtown is a nightmare as usual, but, this time, it allows me the chance to sneak a hand across the console and graze my fingers across Hannah’s chest. The second I feel her nipple through her T-shirt, my dick springs to attention in my jeans. “No bra,” I say, my voice suddenly low and throaty and full of the need I’ve been harboring since she texted me on the plane.
I can feel Hannah’s heartbeat speed up as I ease through another stoplight and start lightly circling her nipple with my thumb while my hand kneads at her breast.
“Garrett,” she moans. I think she wanted it to be a warning, but I’m just too damn good with my hands.
“Let me hear you, baby,” I whisper. I give her now-hard nipple a pinch. “I didn’t get to hear you earlier.”
Hannah’s green eyes are clouded with arousal, but I still catch the glimpse of hesitancy that flashes across them.
“It’s okay,” I breathe. “Fall apart for me, Hannah.”
That seems to be enough permission for her, because the next sound out of her mouth is a fucking delicious whimper that I wish I could swallow in a kiss. My dick throbs at the sound. I look over and see that she has her other breast in her own hands, mimicking my ministrations. Anyone in traffic beside us could glance over and have a pretty decent idea of what was happening, but I honestly couldn’t fucking care. All I want right now is to watch Hannah come just from me playing with her nipples and putting dirty images in her head.
“Fuck, Hannah, you’re so hot. I want to pull the car over and fuck you in the backseat, and I don’t even care who sees or hears, because I need your pussy.” I’ve found a nice rhythm alternating between light touches to her nipple and firm pinches, and Hannah is breathing like she’s just run a mile. So I keep going. “I love that I don’t even have to be inside you to make you come anymore, though. You’re just thinking about me fucking you, and you’re going to come, isn’t that right?”
I flick her nipple, and her breath hitches.
“Probably,” she pants.
I tsk. “Well, that’s not good enough.” I slip my hand down through the loose collar of her shirt to eliminate the cloth barrier between us. “I need to know for sure.” Hannah’s breast is warm and familiar, if bigger than the last time I touched it like this. I idly recognize that I can’t wrap my hand around it anymore, and holy shit does that push me from “throbbing hard” to “painfully hard” instantly. “Are you going to come thinking about my mouth on your tit? My tongue flicking your nipple—just a little, like this.” I flick her nipple again, gently this time, and she hisses.
“Yesssss.”
“Yes what, baby?”
“Yes, I’m going to fucking come if you keep fucking touching me like that!” she bites, and I know she’s close. I think about teasing her, but I can see the Raffles, and I really want to watch her come before we get there, so I re-double my flicking, rolling, and kneading motions until I’m 95% sure I’m going to come untouched.
With one hard, final pinch to her nipple, I say, “Okay, baby. Then come for me.”
And she does.
Hannah’s groan is practically feral and so loud that I’m surprised the driver of the Benz next to us doesn’t look over. She drops her hand from her other breast to grab the car door handle as the waves of her orgasm roll through her, and it’s a fucking miracle that I don’t rearend the car in front of us, because I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s a vision when she comes.
I keep kneading her breast as she comes down from what must have been a fucking brilliant orgasm, because it’s a solid 3 minutes before she says anything, and when she does, it’s just, “Fuck.”
“Fuck,” I agree.
Hannah adjusts her shirt, closes her eyes, and leans her head against the headrest. “I’m not saying we should make semi-public sex a regular thing, but, God, have I needed an orgasm like that.”
For the first time in a long time, I return my right hand to the steering wheel.
“You can say it, Wellsy,” I grin.
“Say what? I’m not thanking you for an orgasm, dude. I popped two kids out of my vagina for you two months ago. You owe me orgasms for the rest of our lives.”
“A price I will gladly pay,” I tell her—and I mean it. I would never come again if it meant I could watch Hannah make the face she just made every day forever. “But that wasn’t what I wanted you to say.”
“What then?”
I’ve gone from grinning to full-on cheesing. I must look insane. “‘Garrett Graham, you are a sex god.’”
But, Hannah, still one to surprise me, too, calls my bluff. “Garrett Graham,” she says, sincerity lacing her voice and making me want to stroke myself through my pants, “you are a sex god.”
Now it’s my turn to groan. “Are you sure I can’t pull over and fuck you in the backseat?”
Hannah laughs. “Take me to the hotel, Garrett. I want French fries, and then you can fuck me however you want.”
I’ve remembered how to breathe and Hannah’s breathing has evened out by the time I pull up to the Raffles a minute later and steer the car toward valet parking. I toss my keys to the guy at the stand and open the passenger door, taking Hannah’s hand in mind with no intent on letting it go until our hands have more pressing matters to attend to. Leaning down to kiss her temple, I whisper in her ear, “Ready for another round, Wellsy? I believe I have some promises to make good on.”
She tilts her head up at me and smiles, her eyes sharp with desire. “Like champagne?”
“Most definitely like champagne.”
To: Sabrina James (Tucker)
From: Hannah Wells (Graham)
HWG: You were right. He’s still into my boobs.
SJT: Told you so. Enjoy, Han. You deserve it.