The time after sex always seemed incredibly awkward to Hanna. She’d spent many post-coital moments fumbling to put clothes on, trying to read the room and whether or not she was going to spend the night in a stranger’s bed or if she was being dismissed when he got up to go pee because the internet said that was how you fought bladder infections from sex. Sometimes it was nice, there would be breakfast the next morning, maybe they’d shower together or talk about random things and there would be the hint of the possibility of more before something happened, someone didn’t call, or life simply moved on.
This was different. Roarke stayed inside her until his lessening and lessening erection made that impossible, pulling out, but not letting her leave his lap. She’d just told him easily the biggest thing you could tell a person. It wasn’t some random thing like saying she was actually on her period or she was allergic to the fabric softener he used in the sheets. She told him he was going to be a father, that she was going to be the mother of the same child. And he looked grateful.
For a brief moment, she was convinced there was no way this could be real. No one was this perfect--well, Roarke was far from perfect. Roarke was an awful human being. Roarke hurt people, had no problem torturing them, physically assaulting them, using them. She wondered often if he had ever killed someone and realized she was terrified to really know the answer. But in this, she was everything she hoped for but was sure she would never get.
“You’re not angry?” she asked, voice small.
“Why should I be angry?” he asked. “I helped make whatever baby we end up with. I told myself long ago that I wouldn’t blame a woman if she came to me and told me she was pregnant, as long as no one was lying to anyone.”
“Lying?”
“I had an old girlfriend before I dropped out of high school tell me she was pregnant once. Turned out to be completely false. But for two weeks I thought I was a dad. I never forgave her for that,” he said.
She brushed her soft fingertips against his temple, opening her palm to the side of his cheek and he leaned into her, turning to kiss the open palm. She felt the warmth there, the utter stillness and beauty in it. She felt the shuddering of his pain, as well. She was fairly certain much of this was being caused by the hormones, both from the baby and the sex only moments ago. But she wasn’t going to complain one bit.
“Have you wanted kids?” she asked.
They disentangled from each other and laid, facing each other, in the small twin bed. Her back was to the cool cement of the wall and it was a welcome comfort to the rest of her overheated skin.
“Not actively,” he said, playing with some loose strings in the sheets. “I was sure as hell excited when she told me she was pregnant. I guess I really do want kids. I didn’t realize it until it’s a possibility, you know?”
She nodded. There was another question here to be asked. Two people in a casual hook up relationship did not cuddle together after sex, nor did they tangle their hands together. And they certainly didn’t sit together and talk about a child they made completely on accident like it was the greatest joy in their lives. This had moved beyond whatever it started out as, if it started out as anything at all. It had taken on a life of its own, both literally and figuratively.
“So what now?” she asked, hesitantly, quietly, afraid she’d scare his arms and hands away from their soft hold on her.
“Now I don’t really want to wake up another day without looking at your face,” he said and blushed and she felt herself swoon. She leaned forward to kiss him across the small gap between them, softly and quietly. “It won’t be easy. We’ll have to be careful with it. People like to talk shit, and having a new recruit actively on the arm of the president isn’t going to bode well for either of us.”
“Really? I feel like it would make me look like hot shit,” she teased, but he frowned.
“That’s the idea. They’ll think you’re climbing the ladder and I’m some weak imbecile manipulated by anything between a woman’s legs,” he said.
“If you want it to be a secret, I’m perfectly fine with that. The last thing I want is to look Rick in the eyes every day and deal with his judging glares.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“So we’re doing this?” she asked. “This. Us. And a baby.”
“It’s fast paced and ridiculous and incredibly scary but--yeah,” he smiled. “We’ll be the first folks in history that don’t suck.”
They went back to silent kissing then, hands roaming over each other. It was just touching, the hope that they could get at all the skin there and never separate. It was soft and warm and not exactly chaste, but it wasn’t sexual either. It was just present, being there, feeling each other.
And then some hard knocks on the door ruined the moment and they pulled back to look at each other.
“Couldn’t hide from the world forever,” Roarke said, kissing her one last time before getting up.
They got dressed quickly to avoid the suspicion of how long it took to get the door open when, only moments ago, they’d talked about the dangers of that very same thing.
It was James waiting on the other side when the door opened and Hanna felt a little bit mortified, like a father calling a daughter in the middle of a hook up at college, but she pushed it aside. He wasn’t her uncle right now. He was the bad tempered family friend who had several grudges against Roarke and a general suspicion at the nature of their relationship.
“We’ve got eyes on Isabelle,” he said. “Security detail finally got a lead on what fucking snake hole she’s been hiding in.”