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Apparently watching Finn’s hitherto fossilised paternal instincts coming to the fore does things to her. If it’s not enough to be dealing with motherhood and fluctuating hormones, Liz finds herself beset by waves of mingled affection and outright lust for him throughout the day.

It eventually comes to a head. Tonight, she's caught him in the nursery which is not entirely unexpected (Finn tends to be hands-on in basically everything). What is unexpected is that he’s singing softly to Sinead who wriggles defiantly in his arms. Liz watches from the doorway, fascinated. Their baby is soon asleep, lulled by her father’s voice and gentle rocking. Finn sets her down in her crib, but not before kissing the top of her head.

He starts a little when Liz rests her cheek against his shoulder but quickly regains his composure.

They watch their daughter in easy silence until Finn rubs the back of his neck and asks: ‘How much did you see?’

‘Everything.’ She pauses for effect. ‘You’re now literally a DILTF. I’ll have to keep an eye on you.’

He turns to her sharply which belies the embarrassed pride he feels. She tilts her head and presses her lips to his and they kiss for a long time. They don’t stop when she unbuttons his shirt and slides a warm hand beneath the fabric to stroke his chest. His own hands roam about her body, fuller and rounder than before but no less attractive to him.

This is as far as they’ve gone in the past three months and Finn doesn’t expect them to go further.

That is, until he feels her fingers unbuckling his belt and making to dip beneath his briefs.

With a burst of willpower, he pulls – albeit fractionally – away. ‘What are you doing?’

She smiles at him, innocently enough to the unexperienced Liz-watcher, but he knows better. ‘I wasn’t joking when I called you a DILTF. And I want to. Now.’

He raises a brow to mask his growing arousal…and more importantly, uncertainty. After all, it’s only been a month since Sinead was born.

‘So soon?’

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted to,’ she murmurs lowly before kissing him again. Finn allows himself to be dragged out of the nursery and into their bedroom. Clothing is feverishly discarded and she squeaks into his mouth when he picks her up and sets her gently on the bed.

‘I’ve missed you,’ she sighs, as he nuzzles her neck. ‘Like this, I mean.’

‘It’s been a while,’ he agrees. He yelps when she suddenly smacks his arse. ‘Ow! What the fuck was that for?’

‘I haven’t done that in ages. That felt nice – ’

‘And you thought now was a good time? Way to kill the mood, Liz,’ he claims, though his cock evidently has no such qualms. He’s so hard his brain is finding it increasingly difficult stringing two coherent thoughts together.

‘As I was saying,’ she continues evenly, ‘that felt nice…but having your dick in me would be infinitely better.’

He doesn’t need further persuading. He retrieves a condom from the bedstand and pointedly locks gazes with her, making a show of lubing himself up which elicits a laugh. And which she finds disgustingly hot. But her momentary confusion is plain to see when he abruptly lies flat on his back.

He stretches out both hands, expectantly. ‘I’ve read that women find it easier to ride their partners after giving birth.’

‘So you were thinking about having sex,’ she says with a note of triumph in her voice as he guides her.

The way he groans and writhes when she sinks onto him only confirms it. It’s a little painful and she’s still sore in half a dozen places but it’s far from unpleasant. On the other hand, it’s clear that it’ll be some time before she gets the hang of this again. Her post-baby body, used to navigating around more inanimate objects around the house, doesn’t quite know how to adapt to the warm, virile presence beneath her. She supposes it’s like relearning how to ride a bike…and she’ll leave that terrible analogy where it stands.

However rusty she thinks she is, Finn doesn’t seem to be noticing a difference. He breathily sighs her name with each swivel of her hips and then moans loudly when she quickens her pace. She covers his mouth in panic.

‘The baby,’ she explains, or rather gasps. Finn – holy fucking shit – actually kisses her palm in reply. The sensation unexpectedly makes her whimper and she swiftly removes her hand and kisses him deeply.

But she can feel herself tiring and she grimaces at the growing, telltale ache in her lower back. She’s about to ask him whether he’d be open to the idea of jacking himself off – with her following afterwards – when he slides out from beneath her.

‘Finn?’

‘Shh, it’s okay,’ he assures her. He arranges them so that they’re both lying on their sides. ‘Let me take care of you now.’

Spooning has never been one of Liz’s favourite positions. While she has often and very fervently wished that Finn’s face was a punching bag so that she could pummel it out of existence, it’s still, she has to admit, not an unattractive one. Plus he has nice eyes and nothing is more of a turn on in the heat of frantic fucking than that grey-green gaze staring deep into hers.

She doesn’t have time to adequately mourn the loss of seeing his nice eyes, however, because his equally nice cock is now making her steadily incoherent.

‘Finn!’ she cries when he bottoms out and it’s her turn to be gently silenced. A palpable shiver runs through him when she returns his earlier favour. They struggle to strike upon the right rhythm but soon she's rocking against him in time with his thrusts, her initial discomfort forgotten. Breath feverish and coming in gasps against her ear, he fumbles blindly for her hands, clasps them tightly upon finding them. The heat of his chest is radiating against her back, even more so when he wraps both their arms around her.

He’s close but she can sense he’s also holding back, waiting until she’s ready…

The wait isn’t long. She brings his hands to her lips, before tracing the barely healed wound on his forearm with her tongue.

The effect is instantaneous: Finn comes with a groan and buries his face in her hair, babbling a stream of nonsense as Liz keens and tightens about him.

‘It’s been a while,’ she echoes, once they manage to regain their breath afterwards and she can feel the steady thump-thump of his heart. It’s inexplicably comforting. Just like its owner.

‘Fuck yes,’ he pants and she settles back in his arms.

They’re on the verge of dozing off into welcome sleep when he says drowsily, ‘Liz?’

‘Yes?’ She cranes to look into his face (his, yes, beloved face).

‘I’ve missed you, too.’