DISCLAIMER: D.E.B.S. and its characters are the property of Angela Robinson. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: About 10 years post feature film.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To zipandliang[at]gmail.com

In a Family Way
By FicChick


It was both more and less difficult than they had anticipated. Just like everything else in life. Amy was less stalwart, Lucy was less sanguine, and things in general were more complicated. For one thing, it didn't happen right away. There were months of unsuccessful attempts and weeks of anxious waiting in between. They did their best to shrug off the disappointment and nod politely as their friends tried to placate them with the usual clichés: you're young, there's plenty of time, you can try again, it'll happen when you're ready. And on and on. Finally, they decided to spare themselves the platitudes and not say anything more. It would all speak for itself in good time anyway.

When it did finally happen, Amy was stunned at how immediately everything changed. Not who she was, exactly, but how she was in the world. She hadn't expected to feel so…vulnerable. And Lucy hadn't expected to feel so…fierce. But there it was, a new step in their dance, a new way of moving with and around each other.

There was vomiting. Lots of it. For a long time. Longer than any of the books and Web sites and chat rooms had indicated. The doctor said everything was fine. Lucy begged to differ. Amy carried saltines everywhere and became intimately acquainted with every available flavor of Gatorade. Her eyes were bloodshot and her ribs ached from heaving and on one particularly bad morning, where she was curled up on the bathroom floor, she couldn't quite stop herself from crying. Even though it made both her eyes and her ribs hurt even more. Lucy sat next to her, guiding Amy's head to her lap, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead, and smoothing back the sweaty strands of hair from her face. "It's going to be okay," Lucy said, her lips quirking into small, reassuring smile. And Amy nodded, exhausted, believing it just enough to not argue.

When the vomiting stopped—finally, finally, finally—things were profoundly better. Amy vowed off saltines for the rest of her life and began cooking and baking and steaming and broiling. Lucy hooked her thumbs into the back pockets of her jeans and watched from the kitchen doorway. In bed at night, she trailed feather-light caresses across the growing swell of Amy's breasts, and Amy's responding moan—different, somehow, lower, deeper, than ever before—made her ache with want and need and tenderness. When she bent to taste Amy, steadying palms on the outside of opening thighs, eager lips and tongue and awestruck murmurs, diving into the sweet salt of her, easing into the welcoming depths of her, Lucy felt almost dizzy with in-love-ness. She was gently relentless, pursuing Amy's pleasure with the same ardent fervor with which she'd pursued Amy herself. And when she brought Amy to the brink of release, she held her there, teetering, balancing over the edge of relief, until neither could bear the weight. And when Amy climaxed, Lucy felt it as her own, her body electric with pleasure and passion.

Amy had survived bullet wounds and broken bones and countless other insults to her flesh. But this pain was unlike any other. It began with a deceptively manageable throb that slowly but certainly escalated into a white hot crescendo of sharp, seizing hurt. She surprised even herself when she cried out, but she could no more stop the unfamiliar frightened whimpers than she could the twisting agony that squeezed her in its grip. Lucy held her hand, and when that wasn't enough, she cradled her from behind, urging Amy to lean against her, to brace against her, and to rest against her when at last she held their impossibly small child in her arms. Amy sagged with joy and weariness, seeming to almost instantly forget every large and small obstacle, indignity, and discomfort that had come before this moment. And Lucy dropped her head to Amy's shoulder, blinking back tears and pressing a kiss to Amy's neck, shivering ever so slightly as the potent cocktail of adrenaline and terror drained from her body, dissipating into the air around them like dust motes in sunlight, leaving her limp with gratitude and the heady anticipation of a longed-for journey about to begin.

The End

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