Lukas scoffs a little at that. It's goodnatured. He strokes her breast as they scoot a little closer, and then a little closer still, and then his hand is coming around her side and wrapping around her back.
"At first," he echoes her. The emphasis changes the meaning. His smile is crooked.
He stretches out on the bed then, unpropping his head from his hand. He rolls onto his back as she loops her arms around his neck, rolling her atop him. They are very close together, two post-orgasmic creatures both warm and languid from it all. His hands follow her back down to the dip of her waist; lace there, his palms covering a large swath of her back as though to keep her warm.
"We should make love again," he whispers. As though this were a novel suggestion. As though it wasn't quite obvious that he would like to do that, just that, very much. "I don't think I've had my fill just yet."
DanickaHe's no innocent. He must know what it means that they've left the cuffs on. How she feels about being pressed up against that big, warm body of his. The way it makes her feel when he caresses her breast, rolling her naked body over his. Danicka hasn't had her fill. Not by a long shot. But she loves it when he asks for more. When he says, in one word or seventeen: Again.
She arches her back beneath his palms, urging his hands down to her ass without quite saying it. She pants softly against his neck. "We should fuck again," she mutters back to him, opening her legs.
LukasAmenably, Lukas's hands find their way down to Danicka's ass. He spreads his fingers over the curvature of her cheeks. Squeezes, rubs, gives her a light, playful little slap as she opens her legs to him.
"Should we now," he muses.
And then he turns again. Must be a side effect of those manacles on her wrists; makes him think he's allowed to move her and heave her and hoist her at his pleasure, the gorilla. He rolls her under him this time, the mattress never quite squeaking despite their excesses. Atop her now, Lukas smiles down at his mate, his hands smoothing up her sides.
And then up her arms. And then to her wrists, and to that loose chain, which he wraps
around the headboard again.
So there they are; quite where they began. The smile on his face fading to a sort of intensity, he lowers his mouth to hers. He starts to kiss her again, gently, almost tastingly; her mouth, her chin, her jawline, her neck. And all the while she can feel him reaching a hand down between their bodies; can feel him taking himself in hand and starting to stroke himself; can feel him making himself hard for her again. Getting that cock ready for her, ready to service her, ready to please her, ready to fuck her, because
that's what he's there for. That's the deal.
DanickaShe loves that. Oh, she always has. When he really wants to flirt with her, sometimes there's patting and squeezing and even pinching. When he wants to arouse her all he has to do is press his hips against the curve of her ass; she nearly bends over for him in the kitchen if she's inclined to fuck him just then. And when she's already naked, aroused, waiting for him, the feel of his hands on her body, right there, makes Danicka start trembling all over. She pants when he slaps her.
And then, he can do whatever he likes with her. Roll her over, press her underneath his body, running his hands up her body. She whimpers as his fingertips trace past her breasts, trembling as he lifts her arms up and chains her again.
"Oh, god," she mutters, turning her face into her own arm, trying to breathe. He urges her mouth away from her bicep a second later, kissing her drenchingly, consumingly. She gives herself over to it, groaning softly into his mouth. "Rub it against me," she whispers, feeling him jerking himself off, stroking his cock between her thighs. "Rub it on my tits, baby."
LukasHe loves it when she bites her bicep like that. Loves it, even though it makes some small protective part of him howl with distress and no mate no be hurt self. It makes that kiss he distracts her with all the more thorough, all the more drenching, all the more consuming. When that kiss ends she has a request for him. He pants against her mouth to hear it. He kisses her again, quick and hard.
Then he pushes up. He climbs over her, grabbing the headboard in one hand to spring over her. The mattress absorbs the impact, but even without it the motion would have been swift and sure; the grace of strength. He kneels over her. His hands cupping her breasts, his lip caught in his teeth, he fucks her tits without the slightest hint of restraint or reserve.
DanickaConsidering that sometimes Lukas bites her much harder when he comes, or that a moment ago he was slapping his palm across her ass, it's a tad ridiculous that he might worry about her biting her bicep, even if she doesn't right that moment. He's ridiculous to think she would harm herself, especially when what they're doing feels so good.
Lukas doesn't deny her, and she knows how hard this will make him. They don't do things like this often: the way they're fucking with their mouths, the way he has her chained, even stroking himself off against her breasts. But she watches him, panting, her teeth almost on edge.
"That's right," she breathes. "You like that, don't you?"
LukasHer mate
who is not always a gentle wolf outside their den. Who is not always a nice man outside their home. Who does not tolerate weakness. Who never fights fair against the Wyrm, and indeed would consider such a notion ridiculous, chauvinistic and idiotic -- and yet who is, generally and to the best of his ability, a good man, a good wolf, a good Garou; someone who strives for victory, peace and fairness in the grand scheme of things; a world where the small have a chance to grow large, and the weak have a chance to grow strong,
and who is, within the confines of their small, safe den, oftentimes more tender and playful and gentle and warm and silly than many could possibly imagine:
is, right now, a beast.
He is a beast. He is panting over his mate. He is fucking her body, rubbing his hard cock on some part of her skin like it doesn't even matter where so long as it's her, so long as she's soft and welcoming, so long as it feels good. It does feel good. It feels fantastic, mindblowing, addictive. He's entranced, he's in a trance, his eyes close and his brow knits and he's biting his lip harder than she'd ever bite her bicep, panting on every breath.
She wants to know if he likes it. She already knows the answer, but he confirms it. Nods; wouldn't think of denying it. "Yeah," it's a groan, "yeah, I like it. Fuck."
DanickaOh, she knows he likes it. She tells him he likes it because she knows. He's so heavy atop her, so hot, caressing her tits, squeezing them as he slides his cock between them. She loves the way he breathes, the way it grates at the bottom of his throat, the way it growls through his mouth sometimes, the way it turns to a grunt, a groan.
Suddenly she remembers their wedding night. The memory is a bit of a blur after the nightclub; the MDMA, after all. But she does remember stripping for him. She remembers rubbing her entire body over his cock. She remembers fucking him while wearing her black satin garter, a color she seldom wears, usually only on sacred occasions. She remembers fireworks going off, and Lukas's face lit by them as he looked past her at the window, gasping. He was buried inside of her at the time. He was so awed.
She likes it when he rubs his cock all over her. She can't touch him now, but she wants to; she forgets she's chained and tries to, panting softly as he gets himself harder, harder for her.
"Are you going to fuck me with that nasty, hard thing?" she whispers.
LukasShe is chained. They're both reminded when she tries to touch him and can't. When she lifts her hands and the chains snap taut and clank against the headboard; when her hands are brought short. Lukas's eyes flick to the manacles. Her wrists. Oh, something dark and hungry flares in his eyes. Something decadent and a little forbidden comes awake when they're likes this, when she's laid out like this, when he's availing himself of her body like this, when she goads him on just like this.
"Yes." It's a harsh, sibilant whisper. He looks down: his cock sliding between her breasts. The give and bounce of her flesh. He looks at her eyes, her mouth; licks his own lips. "Yes, I am."
A last, hard thrust between her tits. And it is a thrust: a powerful motion, borne through by the strength of that fine-tuned, war-honed body. He rises up on his knees. Touches her face, strokes his thumb across her lips. Touches her mouth like he's thinking of her mouth on his cock again, remembering the way she took him, sucked him off, held him until he was nearly a heap on the floor.
There's lightning in his eyes, and in the air between them. His cock jumps. He puts a hand on it to still it. He moves back down the bed, deliberate and slow, one knee at a time. He lifts her legs over his thighs, around his waist, higher. He strokes himself all the while, as though he couldn't help it, as though the very sight of her, the very promise of her, has made him a slave to his own pleasure.
She's wet when he finds her. He's hard. He guides himself to her with his eyes locked on hers, and then he lets go. His hand paws heavily over her body. He plants one fist to either side of her head, holding himself up, holding himself flexed and taut over her, groaning openly, snarling, as he pushes into her in a single, slow slide.
It's the first time this entire night. Doesn't seem like it, they've been fucking so long, but it is. It's mindblowing. His pupils blow. He leans down to her, comes down to her like an animal, catches her mouth, mauls her. Ravages her. Pants into that kiss on the second thrust, faster than the first, a little rougher. Solid. Nailing her, his brow to hers, eyes opening. A third time, a fourth, a rhythm now, a coordination of muscle and bone quite literally hardwired into his body and mind.
"Is that how you like it?" he wants to know: a mutter, a murmur. "Is this how you want to get fucked?"
DanickaEven when he stops stroking himself against her breasts, just thinking about her body, her mouth, makes Lukas's cock jump. Oh, Danicka notices that. She smile, slashingly, licking his thumb where it rests across her lips. She arches her back as though to encourage him to go on, keep fucking her, rub that cock on her tits, suck on her, play with her. But he touches himself instead, holding himself still while he looks at her. Lightning arcs between them, and it arcs between her own eyes.
And he sinks downward. Danicka shudders, closing her eyes, lifting her hips toward him even before he makes his way down her body. Her legs encircle him, and she looks at him a moment later to find out why he's not fucking her yet, only to find him kneeling there, stroking it, and she thinks she might die.
She does so love to watch him.
--
Danicka has to bite her lip to keep from crying out when he pushes into her. She moans, almost a shriek, against her sealed lips, her cunt quivering on his cock. It doesn't occur to her that it's their first time tonight, it's the first time he's fucked inside of her like this, but that is because she is trying very hard not to lose her mind completely. His kiss meets her teeth; she opens her mouth a second later and releases a moan, knowing they won't be able to get away with even this much noise in coming years.
When he starts to fuck her, to well and truly give it to her, she is beyond ready for it. Her pussy pulses in tight, wet waves around him, her ass rubbing against the bed every time he thrusts.
"Yes," she gasps, right away, biting off the end of his question before he's done asking it. "God -- fuck, yes. Just like that."
LukasThat grin of hers was carnivorous. The way he laughs now: the same. He kisses her again, hard, rubs his cheek alongside hers rough and animal. "My sweet girl," he calls her. "My filthy, darling -- " a flash of laughter in his eyes, then, even before it touches his mouth, rumbles from his chest, " -- lawfully wedded wife."
He's ridiculous. He can be so ridiculous. And then it passes. And then he scoops her off the bed with a hand behind her head, an inch or two, enough that he can kiss her again. Enough that he can kiss her back down to the bed, press her there as he comes down on his elbows over her,
bites her lip as his mouth releases hers. He fucks her: enthusiastically, athletically, quite in earnest; pounding her against that bedspread, that comforter, those sheets, that mattress. No, they won't be able to do this in the years coming. At least not here. At least not with the twins next door, or Irca downstairs. They'll have to get used to going to hotels again, they'll have to get used to having true date nights where they don't come home, they'll have to
like all parents do
learn to let go just a bit of their pups. Let go just enough that their own lives, their own love, can thrive.
--
That's for later. Neither of them are thinking about it right now. Neither of them are thinking very much at all, nor capable of it. He atop her, he's on her, he's in her, he's with her: he's fucking her with all the strength and energy and willingness of his body and mind. It's a feverish coupling, intense and delirious. His hands grip the bedspread. Her hands would be slapping against his shoulders, clawing down her back, but oh: her hands are tied down. Her hands are tied down and that,
god help his secretly-slyly-slightly twisted little soul,
turns him on so ferociously. To hear those chains clinking softly with the ferocity of their motion. To feel her straining against the binds. To feel the chains themselves hard and cold when he reaches up and grasps them, grabs them as though to share that anchor point with her, even as his other hand slides under her waist to lift her, arch her back just a little more, angle her to take him just a little deeper --
he bites her. He forgets that sometimes when she bites herself he pangs because he's silly and he's Lukas. He forgets to worry, to pace, to howl. He forgets all but the single unalienable truth: she is his mate, this is what he's for. He bites her into shoulder, growls into her flesh, pounds into her cunt, hammers her hard against the mattress and holds her there,
and yes, this time he does roar -- this time he does bellow, muffled as it is, as his orgasm rises up and crashes over him.
--
Not done, though. Not done. A moment of electric stillness: a moment when he's pressed deep into her, flexed hard into her, coming into her. And then: a resumption, as though he'd never for a moment slacked. He starts fucking her again as furiously and feverishly as he was -- just as fast, just as firmly, grunting like a beast on every stroke, grinding against her on every stroke, his hand slipping from under her, his hand pushing its way up her body, his hand cupping her breast and squeezing, caressing, clasping her in his hot palm as he goes
right on
fucking her.
Because that's what he's for. Isn't that right? This is what he's for: for fucking her, for filling that cunt, for pleasing that pussy, for making her come, for blowing her mind, for being her devoted, unfaltering, ever-dutiful mate.
DanickaSweet, filthy, darling, lawful. Danicka gasps but it's not a laugh; her cunt clenches on him when he says it, calls her his filthy, darling wife. She aches, trying not to moan aloud, wetness slicking his cock anew as he fucks her. She can't even kiss him back, she's so far gone now. She is losing herself, looking down their bodies, his chest on her breasts, his beautiful body flexing and tightening as he moves himself in her. "Oh, my boy," she mutters thoughtlessly, breathing the words. "Oh, my beautiful boy."
Her head tips back; her legs wrap high and tight around him, urging him on. "My fucking gorgeous boy."
As though he were the one in chains. As though he were the one being used. And in a way he is: wasn't she the one to suggest it? Wasn't she the one who made him come because she couldn't stand it any longer, brought on his orgasm like she needed it herself somehow. Isn't this what he's for -- to be her gorgeous, beautiful boy, to fuck her pretty cunt, to send her over that edge?
The chains clink and she shushes them, him, something. She whimpers anyway, winding her hips underneath him, using him, getting off on him, gasping harsher, faster, choking a groan when he buries himself in her and comes, comes so very hard and so very hot between her thighs. She moans, a little too loud, as she comes with him, after him, and he goes still but she's working herself on his cock, holding him deep with her legs around him, coming even after he goes motionless and gasping, coming even as he picks himself up again to keep fucking her, fucking her like that, until she is almost weeping, trying so hard not to cry out over and over again,
whispering, gasping out: "Stop. Stop. Oh please, baby, stop, I can't --"
but she can. And she does take it, biting hard into her lower lip, riding out the last of god knows how many orgasms against him.
LukasIt's true. Danicka is the one in chains, yet she is not the one who submits. Between them is a certain unspoken compact, first set long before they were wed, long before he even won her from her brother -- and, in a truer sense: from his own possessiveness, his own pride, his own need for dominance. That is the compact renewed every time she offers her wrists for him to bind, and every time he offers himself the same way.
She does not submit to him. She never has to submit to him. It does not matter that in the eyes of the Nation, he is Garou and she is kin. It does not matter that in the eyes of the Tribe, he is a warrior, he is strong, he is worthy, and she is -- not. It does not even matter that in the eyes of modern human society,
she will always be a woman, and by virtue of biological sex, always be viewed by some as inferior. Lesser. Submissive. Subhuman.
None of that matters here. In their den. In their home. Between them. Even if they sometimes have to pretend otherwise, the truth speaks for itself.
She does not submit to him, and he would never ask that of her. She does not submit to the twisted notions and preconceptions and prejudices of all their myriad societies -- and he would never ask that of her, either. When he allows her to bind him, he reminds her: he casts those notions and preconceptions and prejudices aside. He pulls them down, savages them apart, lays the shreds at her feet. He lays himself at her feet, to do with as she will.
He submits to her, when he allows her to bind him.
She trusts in him, when she allows him to bind her.
That is the difference, subtle but true.
--
And so:
and so, even bound -- or especially bound -- Danicka guides the flow of their play. She asks him to tie her up. She asks him to give her that cock. She brings him to orgasm like that, too, was an offering at her altar. She lies on her back for him, and goads him to the brink of madness, and allows him into her body,
and all but orders him to please her. Trusts him to do just that: to take her as far as she can go, and no farther. To know the difference between stop and red. To see the difference between a passionate lovemaking, an ardent encounter, a rough fuck -- and actual brutality.
To walk that line. To surrender himself to her need, and his adoration. To fuck her, keeping fucking her, keep on fucking her like that,
just like that,
until she almost weeps. Until she's trying not to cry out. Until she's telling him she can't, she can't, except she can, she can and he knows she can, he knows it, she does. She rides it out on him. He gives it to her, groaning himself, falling to ruins himself, falling apart only when she shudders to pieces one more time.
--
When they are finished.
When they are finished, he can barely catch his breath. He is all heat and laxity and heaviness over her. His hands lax on the chain. His head heavy on the pillow beside hers. His teeth lax on her shoulder; his torso heavy between her thighs.
When the will to move creeps back into his limbs, Lukas feels his blind way along the chain until he finds the snap. He unsnaps it. And then he kisses the side of her neck, softly and adoringly; transported.
Danicka1: doubly bad
evens: fine
odds: only slightly bad
10: for great success
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (4) ( fail )
DanickaBefore they met, if a woman ever brought out chains to Lukas and invited him to use them on her, he might have well and truly dominated her. Or he might have turned away, some animal part of him understanding the nuances of such an offering and rejecting it: an attachment, an intimacy, not needed for his purposes. Back then, though, his purposes were to get off and move on. Wasn't that part of why he held himself back from her, would have held himself back from her even if he weren't thinking of his packmate? He didn't want to dishonor his own kinfolk like that, or at least that was one ostensible reason.
He already sensed that it might not be that easy, with her. Didn't trust that.
She never would have offered him chains back then. Never would have asked him to bind her with his silk tie. Never would have told him that easy, color-coded system of safewords. She never would have thought that she would lay on her back for him, wrap her arms and legs around him, kiss his mouth, and welcome him like that. Protect him like that.
Protect him at all.
But that's what she does. When he shrugs off all that strength, all that power, all that glory like an armor and lays it down between them. When those things are shed, he is just as vulnerable as she is -- moreso, perhaps, because who is he, if he is not his strength? Who is he, to all of them out there, if he is not Wyrmbreaker, Cold Victory, Adren and Ahroun and Alpha? What is he, without all that?
Lukas never asks himself that question. He comes to her, only and entirely himself, his strength and his names and his power not abandoned but ....set aside. Set down. Because sometimes
they are burdens. And they are walls.
And she is free, and she is wild, and she is his home.
As he is hers.
--
Danicka can barely move. She is limp under him, arms outstretched overhead, legs trembling. She thinks she cried out. She thinks she is going to hear that baby monitor go off any second now, from Lukas's guttural roaring and her near-wailing. And go off it does, the speaker giving them not just white noise but some sounds of fussing, of infantile grunts of discomfort, but truth be told, that's not uncommon even on nights when they aren't fucking each other senseless. One of the babies -- and she is pretty sure it's Tatiana -- whines a little, then quiets again.
She exhales, not realizing she'd held her breath at all. But she did. And now she lets it out, panting softly at the end, shuddering under and around him. She feels Lukas panting, feels him melting. Feels him still biting her shoulder a little, holding her in his teeth, and huffs a faint laugh at it, almost soundless.
He unsnaps the chain before he can't move at all anymore, and she draws one cuffed wrist down, loosening her joints again, draping her arm over him. She takes her other arm slower, slower, the chain dragging too-loudly but quietly for its weight from around the headboard, across the pillows. The length of it falls between the bedframe and mattress, and she feels the tug of its weight very subtly. She smiles, and ignores the weight, wrapping her other arm around him, the chain trailing down her arm, his side, their bodies.
Danicka wraps her legs and arms around him anew, just
holding him. She turns her head, resting it on his shoulder, closing her eyes.
LukasThey both hold their breaths. For a moment there, without realizing it, instinctive tension tautens their bodies; has Danicka's breath caught in her throat, has Lukas turning his head in the vague direction
not of the baby monitor but of the door linking their room to the bathroom to the twins' room: the direction in which he can smell his pups. Their smallness. Their aliveness. Their themness, which has in it the hints of both himself and his mate.
The fussing on the monitor quiets, though. They go back to sleep. Danicka exhales, and Lukas turns back to her, and she shudders and he melts and he finds her shoulder and grips it again in his teeth. Tenderly. She laughs a little. He undoes the chain. She puts her arms around him, arms and legs; hugs him with what seems like every fiber of her being, as though to make up for all the years they spent not-together, not loving each other, not even really remembering one another's existence.
He smiles against her shoulder. She rests against his. They both close their eyes, and: oh, for a while, it is just like this. It is perfect, just like this.
--
Eventually the rush in their blood evens out. Their bodies regain equilibrium. There is warmed air huffing from the vents, but it is still winter, and it is still cool. Lukas shifts a little. Danicka's arms loosen a little. They slide apart, her mate panting softly against her neck; their legs remaining half-entwined even as he rolls to his side beside her, relaxed and warm, warm and affectionate.
His arm pillows her head again. His hand wanders her body, touching her with a sort of familiarity that only comes with time. He knows her body so very well now. Sometimes he almost feels as though they share stewardship of their bodies and souls: that harm done to her is harm done to him, and vice versa. No wonder they defend each other so viciously. No wonder they care for each other so deeply.
He smiles, his face close to hers. He kisses her mouth softly, a little playfully: like a tiny hello.
"Next time," he whispers, "I think we're going to have to do that at a hotel."
DanickaThey are large enough to walk around and they dance and they laugh and they babble and try to put on their own clothes, failing miserably, and they help choose what they wear each day. They are turning into full-blown toddlers. But they are so small to Lukas, especially. They are so vulnerable, and alive, and his, and then Danicka is wrapping him in her arms, drowsing against his shoulder, and she is his and he is hers, too. And they belong to their daughters, as their daughters belong to them.
They rest. They close their eyes, close, their body heat evaporating slowly into the air. It is dear. It is perfect. And Danicka falls asleep.
--
Then Lukas shifts and Danicka whines at him, half-groaning, protesting, he's such a jerk, he -- "Oh," she whispers, as he draws out of her. Her legs go slack. She rolls her head onto his bicep, still cuffed, though unchained. She lets him stroke her, rubbing her side and her back. The rhythm is familiar now, and nearly puts her under again instantly. She really should brush her teeth and take a quick shower before they get under the covers, but she's just so comfortable. Even with the manacles.
She isn't thinking about stewardship, of shared bodies as well as shared souls. She can't really think much at all. He kisses her hello and she smiles, even with her eyes closed. He teases that they will have to do that at a hotel next time.
"Nah," she mutters. "They didn't wake up. It's fine. But you need to shush."
Lukas"Oh, do I," Lukas replies, infinitely amused. She feels his fingers at her wrists: gently and pragmatically and methodically, he goes about undoing those manacles. One, then the other. He tosses them out of the way -- they bounce off the mattress and roll to the floor.
"I do believe," he continues, "you were the one who first convinced me to stop holding back and get loud.
"Come on," gentle, gentle still: urging her to move, to rise. "Let's shower. And brush our teeth. And then let's get under the covers and curl up and sleep in tomorrow. I'll feed the twins in the morning. We'll loll in bed until noon."
DanickaThe chain-bearing manacle is a bit noisier when it thunks to the floor. Danicka's eyes open, briefly, and she raises her eyebrow at him. "Obviously," she says, of his need to shush or not. Her eyes close again, while he accuses her of starting it all, years ago. She can't deny it. All she can do is protest, muttering: "Well, you were such a prude about it..."
She wrinkles her nose as he tries to get her to get up. She wants to shower. She does. She wants to brush her teeth. She rolls over, flops over, then starts inching towards the edge of bed. "Nooo, I wanna feed them boobs tomorrow." She relents, half-falling, half-stepping off the edge of the bed and slowly standing. "You can help, though. Not with the boob part."
Obviously.
LukasShe does not. Fall. Off the bed. Not even half-fall. She half-steps off the bed; the other half is Lukas catching her, laughing, pulling her to her slow feet.
"I'll bring them to you then," he promises. "And you can feed them. And then I'll put them back and come back to bed and then we'll sleep until noon." He kisses her temple, "But first we shower."
His arm around her as they head for the bathroom. His heart beating slow and quiet and full in his chest. Lukas is smiling. He is quite happy.
DanickaDanicka bats at his hands when he is grabbing at her. She is not falling, she is flopping, because lazy. And he is always getting in the way and worrying about her doing things like biting her bicep or stretching too much and this is why he's not allowed to come to kung fu belt tests, no he's not, because he would frenzy. "Tak úzkostlivý," she slurs at him, still batting at his hands even after he's relented, though her batting is terribly gentle. "I'm doing it."
Floppily. Lazily.
She bats at him and his chest a couple more times for good measure, pats on his ample musculature that, quite frankly, gets her off, and walks past him toward the bathroom, but he comes a step after her and is glomping all over her and she gets an errant and cruel thought of blowing in his face but doesn't. She's not that mean. She walks across the short distance, stepping over clothes, yawning, dragging her husband along. And he is telling her he will bring her the babies and when they are fed he will put them back to bed and then they'll loll in bed til noon and by the time they flick the light on in the bathroom, she nuzzles her brow to his jaw, smiling.
The truth is, the babies will not go quietly back to bed, and back to sleep, after they wakeup. After they are changed out of night-wet diapers. After they snuggle in bed with their mama for a while, taking turns nursing drowsily, waking up, staring up at Danicka with alert, bright eyes. After that there will just be a tiny burp and then, if Lukas is truly intent on being lazy, they can go back to their room and the door can be shut and they can crawl around playing with their toys and babbling to each other while their parents drowse. But not til noon. Within an hour or two they will be hungry again, or wanting a change again, and Danicka will feel bad if she doesn't get up and get them dressed and give them their solid breakfast, and then the whole house will come alive, with cold December sunlight pouring in the windows and some happy-sounding folk music playing quietly in the background.
Of course, mid-morning they will take a little nap. They are still little enough to sleep twice during the day, still easily worn out just by the effort of moving their tiny bodies around. Growing. Being alive. And maybe, since it is vacation, Lukas and Danicka will nap, too, lolling in bed a bit more. Or they'll curl up on the couch and watch a few episodes of a show. Or she'll realize they need more milk for a recipe she's making for lunch and sneak out to the Jewel-Osco for a few minutes and he will feel simultaneously anxious and deeply settled and very happy to be left alone with them, which even to this day is a rare thing, and Danicka may come home
to find him sitting outside the twin's room, reading a book, smiling while he guards his sleeping pups.
And she will kiss him, feeling right then the same tender adoration she feels right now, moments after lovemaking, stepping into a hot shower with him before bed.
