Your stomach is in knots.
Your skin is damp with sweat, making the room feel ten times hotter than it probably is. His touch is heavy against you, almost as if to keep you grounded while you continue to peak with ecstasy.
Tom is right behind you, using the headboard to lean against. Meanwhile you're pressed against his chest and settled between his legs; you let your head fall lax on his shoulder as your eyes flutter shut.
"God," you draw out, arching a bit when you feel teeth against your ear lobe for the briefest second.
Tom's fingers continue to toy with you; some moments having his thumb press and rub at your clit, while other moments he curls them inside of you in just the right way. You've been on edge for so long it is borderline painful, but so good. Your chest heaves for breath, and your breasts stand at attention from the way your back bows in pleasure.
"You look gorgeous love," Tom mutters in a low tone.
"Please, I—please," you fumble, one of your hands moving to grip the messy bedding beneath you. To make a point you grind back against him, and his erection is hot and hard against your lower back. Tom lets out a grunt, his arms tensing as his fingers slow down.
The two of you work in unison to move about the bed. You end up with your head by the end of the bed while bracing yourself on your knees and elbows. While you don't turn to watch, you feel Tom move around a bit before eventually pushing into you.
You let out a vocal exhale, your head falling lazily between your arms.
"Fuck," Tom moans, his hands gripping your hips and you know it'll bruise a bit.
When he pulls back you wince a little and request, "lube."
"Got it," Tom agrees and with that quick adjustment he's back inside you.
You lean yourself on one elbow, while your other hand trails beneath you, fingers expertly finding your clit to rub in unison with Tom's movements. It's not long before your body is tensing up as waves of pleasure roll through you consistently. Tom gets a little sloppy too, and ultimately drapes himself over your back.
You crane your neck and head, and he meets you in a kiss.
It swallows your cry when your orgasm hits. You convulse as it washes over you, and you barely register Tom pulling out. His own orgasm coats the back of your thighs and some of the bedding. You collapse onto your front and try and catch your breath. Tom does the same, curling into your side as his hand sleepily runs up and down your spine.
You turn your head to look at him, "that was great."
"Glad you thought so too," Tom chuckles, and leans up to kiss your temple, "love you."
All of your insides melt.
"I love you too," you say easily.
A moment passes.
"I need to shower before, ya know," you huff and motion to your legs, "everything dries."
Tom's face scrunches, "gross."
You roll your eyes and move to stand up, "strip the sheets and put them in the wash."
As much as you want to bask in the afterglow—Ezra is supposed to come home soon, he had a day out with his grandparents. It's much needed as the boy is outgrowing almost everything he owns.
Tom had no hesitation letting his parents bye the tyke new clothes.
The shower is nice, the warm water furthering your relaxation. It does unfortunately sober you up from your post-euphoric haze sooner than you'd like, but you're coming to realize the cost of having a little one around.
It's more than worth it.
By the time you're out of the shower Tom is dressed and the bed has been stripped. You opt to let your hair air dry while you dress and leave the bedroom.
"(Y/N)!" Ezra cries out the second you arrive in the living room.
"Hi sweetheart!" You beam and bend down on one knee, wrapping your arms around the excited child. Ezra buries his face in your neck, little hands playing with the fabric of your shirt.
"Do you want to show (Y/N) and Daddy your new clothes?" Dominic asks from the foyer.
Looking up you catch sight of Nicola and Dominic. They have bags from a few shopping bags at their feet. You stand and Ezra marches over to the bags. He all but dives into one and pulls out a new pair of shoes.
They are bright yellow sneakers and when he claps them together they light up.
"Ez! Those are so cool!" Tom smiles which prompts the boy to keep clapping them.
"I like the yellow a lot," Ezra claims.
You move some of the bags onto the kitchen table, away from Tessa's prying snout. The pup licks at your hand and you give her a smile and pat her a few times.
Returning to the foyer you see Tom hugging his parents goodbye. You quickly move over and hug them as well.
"We're having some extended family for dinner next week," Nicola informs, "and you three are invited to join us."
"Have you invited Grandpa?" Tom asks excitedly.
Dominic nods, "he will be there."
"And so will we," you say confidently. The two trade time details and you offer to bring a dish or two as well.
"Bye Nan! Bye Grandpa!" Ezra cries out from the kitchen table, but has no intention of coming over. The four year old has wormed his way onto a chair and is picking out clothes.
"We'll leave you with that," Dominic teases and Nicola gives a wink before they leave. Tom shuts the door behind them, and it leaves the three of you alone. You get a playful pinch on your side when Tom passes you to the dining room, and you can't keep the smile off your face.
The two of you meet Ezra at the table.
"I got this...and this...oh and this!" Ezra lists off excitedly, holding up some new shirts.
The three of you spend the next few minutes sorting through everything. More importantly you and Tom sort through clothes by how to wash them and what occasion they serve. Most are casual and every day, while some are more formal or special occasion oriented.
"What color is this?" You sign to Ezra.
The boy looks to the shirt you hold up, and he furrows his brow trying to remember.
When he remembers his adorable little face lights up, eyes wide and smile bright, and he signs, "green!"
"Very good," you say.
Tom is clearly impressed as well, taking a moment before suggesting, "you should teach all of us sign."
"All as in...?" You ask.
"Well Ezra and me, but I think my family would like to. So when we see Josie we can communicate to her both ways," Tom says.
You think it over. Ezra is little, he's picking it up lightening quick because he's still malleable. That leaves six other Hollands to teach; and while it would definitely be fun, it would require each of them to take it seriously and practice. You remember vividly how your family struggled for a long time to sign fluently—but given the circumstances the four of you had no choice but to learn as soon as possible.
"I'd love to," you say, "but it's not going to be easy."
"I never said it was," Tom challenges.
"Point taken," you nod and smile at his confidence, "lets ask everyone at dinner next week, yeah?"
Tom nods and suddenly is in your space. You watch him with soft lidded eyes as he pulls you close, his palms searing as they cup your sides. Both of you lean in for a quick kiss—it almost feels childish. The way you both smile wide enough to break it, and they way Tom's head falls to your shoulder to hide his blush.
Your eyes drift to Ezra who is sitting still at the table. His hazel eyes are wide and strangely calculating as he looks back at you. It's not a hostile look, it's almost curious in a way. Still, it makes your stomach loop and you clear your throat.
"I'm going to put these clothes in the wash," you say and pull back from Tom.
Before you can gauge his or Ezra's reaction you scoop up the new clothes from the table and head to the laundry machine. You take scissors and carefully take the tags off everything before throwing them into the machine. Ezra has sensitive skin, as a matter of fact so does Tom, so you are mindful enough to use the high efficiency soft on skin detergent.
It's stupid expensive, but you've found that is keeps both boys comfortable.
"I'm hungry," Ezra says, suddenly next to you, "can I has something please."
"Have," you correct.
"Can I have something please," Ezra reiterates.
You press start on the washer before looking over to give the boy you're full attention. Ezra is pushing back at his curls, looking rather annoyed that they are in his face. Bending down, you run your hand through the tangled mess, getting it out of his face as you hold your hand against his scalp.
"I think it's time for a hair cut, what do you say?" You ask.
Ezra nods against your hand, giggling when you push back a little, "uh-huh. It's in my eyes and stuff."
"Maybe later tonight, after this snack? We can even walk Tess too."
With that the tot rushes to the living room to play. You stand up and move to the fridge in search of something to make. Tom pops up suddenly, and he's opening the freezer only to hold up chicken nuggets.
"He's also getting some fruits and veggies with it," Tom defends when you give him a look.
"At this rate he'll turn into a chicken nugget," you chuckle.
Tom hands you the bag of nuggets before moving past you to pre-heat the oven. You grab a baking sheet as the two of you work in unison to prepare lunch. Tom controls the fruits and veggies while you arrange all the nuggets onto an aluminum covered baking sheet.
"You know, sometimes I get a little sad that he can't have ants on a log," you muse.
"Ants on a what?" Tom asks.
Pausing, you look to Tom with an arched eyebrow, "you know...celery sticks with peanut butter and raisins. Or chocolate chips if you don't like raisins."
"Why is that called ants on a log?"
"Why is anything called anything?" You challenge.
Tom smirks—then Ezra lets out a painful shriek from the living room. It pierces the air and startles both you and Tom. The two of you sprint around the counters, around the dining table, and to the living room.
Ezra is sitting on the carpet beside the tea table, his hands clamped against his forehead. You easily put together a picture when you noticed how rumpled the couch is. He must've been jumping—like he isn't supposed to be—on the couch, and fell off only to knock his head on the edge of the table.
His face is red, tears stream down his face, and you're mostly thankful he didn't knock himself out.
Tom quickly goes over and gets on his knees, reaching out to comfort the boy. You stay still wanting to make sure there is no blood before you get an ice pack. Ezra's crying increases, and he keeps one hand on his head while the other swats at Tom.
"Come here Bug, I just want to see if you're okay," Tom urges and sort of forces Ezra closer.
"No," Ezra wails, choking on the force of his cries, "I want Mum!"
You inhale sharply, and your body goes taut as you register his words. Ezra is still incoherently sobbing against Tom's chest. Tears spring in your eyes pretty quickly after the omission from the boy, and Tom is looking between him and you in shock.
"Mum?" Tom questions, his voice shaky and weak.
"Am I—?" You ask but trail off, not wanting to say it.
Ezra hiccups and looks at you, his one free hand reaching for you, "Mum."
Tom and you find each other's gazes, and all it takes is his firm nod for you to rush around the couch. You sit in front of the two boys and you open up your arms. Ezra crawls over and falls against your chest, and you hold him tight while rocking him softly. The boy calms in your hold, still whimpering but no longer full on wailing.
"Can Daddy and I look at your forehead sweetheart?" You ask after a moment.
Ezra sits up and hesitates.
"I promise you're okay, we just need to check," you soothe.
Tom nods and smooths a hand through his son's hair, "(Y/—Mum is right. You'll be fine."
Mum.
Ezra inhales shakily and nods, blinking the tears out of his eyes although his eyelashes remain tacky. He removes his hand and you frown. There is some blood, but it's a very small cut that needs a clean and bandage at most.
"See—you're fine," you smile.
"It still hurts," Ezra whimpers.
Tom frowns, "well yeah Ez, you hit your head. It's going to hurt. But we are gonna make it all better."
You scoop the boy into your arms and Tom leads the two of you to the bathroom. While he gets the first aid kit out you settle the boy onto the counter. Ezra's hand, thankfully not the bloody one, grips your shirt as if silently asking you not to move away. You stay put, wrapping an arm around him and peppering kisses to the crown of his head.
"I love you Ez," you tell him softly.
Ezra nods blankly, "love you too."
Tom fumbles a bit, his eyes flickering to yours. You immediately sense he's panicking, and you know he's holding it inside and doing a horrible job of doing so. The two of you will address this later, but for now you shake your head and focus back on Ezra.
Your job is to clean the cut and his hand while Tom puts a small circular band-aid on the boy's forehead. Tom takes his son to the kitchen, promising to give him a juice pop of his choice for being so brave. You stay in the bathroom, hands braced on the counter for a moment to regain yourself.
Then you put yourself on auto pilot and clean up the medical mess before walking down the hall. The backyard is small, but nice, and it even has a small patio with some outdoor furniture. The padding is aged well and the color has been faded by sun exposure, and you sit only to look up at the sky.
The next second you have your phone in hand, dialing the first number you think of. Time difference be dammed.
"(Y/N)? Is everything alright?" Your mother asks, her voice a little raspy with sleep.
You pull the phone away from your face and wince when you calculate the time, it's four in the morning and suddenly you feel like an asshole.
"(Y/N)?"
"He called me mom," you say weakly.
There is a beat of silence between the two of you.
"It was bound to happen the more serious you and Tom got," she tells you.
"He's freaking out—what if he doesn't want him to call me that?" You ask.
Your mother sighs, "he's been a single father for the entirety of Ezra's childhood so far. Of course he's freaking out that his son has another parental figure."
"I liked it," you admit, "I really liked it, it felt right? I don't know if that makes sense."
"It does. You love Ezra like he's your own."
You sit up, leaning forward a little, "I would do anything for him...and that's a scary thought but I absolutely would."
"That's what being a parent is all about," your mother chuckles softly, "the selflessness. The courage to try and fail. The bravery to love someone unconditionally. It's the most rewarding job in the world."
"Wow, you're a closet sap," you grin.
"You cheeky shit, I'm trying to be nice. All I'm saying is that you and your sister are my greatest accomplishments. I'll die one day, but I know I raised and left behind two kick ass girls."
You hesitate, your face heating up, "you're just saying that. Josie and I were...are assholes."
"I never said you two weren't assholes; middle school was my personal hell. The longer you raise Ezra the more you'll understand my words."
The London sky above starts to clear of clouds the longer you're on the phone. The sunshine feels good on your skin and clothes, pushing warmth back into you. Before you can say much more you hear the patio door open and close, and when you glance over you're met with familiar eyes.
"(Y/N)?"
"Thanks for picking up, but...uh I have to go," you say, not breaking eye contact with Tom.
"Alright honey, I love you," your mother says.
You return the formalities before ending the call, and you let the phone slide out of your grip onto the nearby patio side table. It's wooden and so old it's starting to split from the elements. You make a mental note to search for some new outdoor furniture.
Tom swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with its force. As if on queue he walks over when the tension gets too much, and he proceeds to sit beside you. His hands fiddle nervously on his lap and a sick feeling starts to pool in your gut.
"I'm sorry?" You try in a weak voice.
Tom's eyebrows furrow, "why are you sorry love?"
Love. So maybe things aren't crumbling.
"I just...you shut down by what just happened. Which I get it, I'm not her and I never will be...so I get it if you want me to just me (Y/N)," you say even though you hate the implication of the words.
More than anything you want to be Mom.
"You're right," Tom sighs, "you're not Elizabeth."
The sick feeling in your gut twists. A bitter taste settles in your mouth. The world is turning grey. As if noticing your panic, Tom scoots over and his hands cup your cheeks with the gentlest touch. You lean into the contact automatically, and you feel so much better already.
"You're better than Elizabeth," Tom says with stark finality.
Air escapes you and your mouth parts in shock.
"Don't say that if you don't mean it."
"Darling of course I mean it," Tom frowns, "you're everything she isn't. You're everything Ezra and I want. I panicked because I wasn't expecting him to call you that quite yet."
"So it's okay?" You ask.
"It's more than okay," Tom says.
You notice the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"What?" You ask.
Tom pauses, "I love you."
You raise an eyebrow, "I know? I love you too."
"Yeah I know," he agrees awkwardly, before continuing with, "I just don't want this backfiring and hurting Ezra...or me."
This time you get up in Tom's space, curling up against his side and holding him close. Immediately his hand scratches lazily at your scalp, where your head is tucked under his chin, and you shiver from the sensation.
"I love the two of you too much to let something stupid take it all away. If I didn't want this you'd know, trust me," you say.
Tom sighs and presses his lips against the crown of your head for a moment, "you're amazing."
"It's kind of my specialty," you tease.
He pinches your side for the snarky remark, and you flail a bit as you laugh. Sitting up straighter you move so you're facing him again. Leaning in, your lips meet his and the two of you share a new kind of kiss. It's not a bedroom kiss; far from it actually. The feeling behind it is totally new—it's like the first warm summer day, like the smell of freshly brewed morning coffee, or like Christmas morning.
It's new.
Because this is all so new, and you know you're starting a whole new level of relationship with both Tom and Ezra.
The two of you part, gazes locking when you gain the strength to open your eyes.
Tom is beaming and you're positive you're right there with him.
"Mum looks good on you," Tom teases.
"It sounds good too," you say, "but we should definitely go talk to Ezra about it. This is just as much his decision as it is ours."
Tom agrees, and the next thing you know your hand is locked in his as he leads you back inside. Ezra is sitting at the kitchen table in his booster seat, sucking at his mango juice pop while watching a cartoon on the nearby propped up iPad.
The boy hears you two walk in and looks over, his face lighting up.
"This is really yummy," Ezra says with enthusiasm.
"It looks so yummy, I think I just might..." Tom says, before leaning down to press of much of kisses to the boy's cheek.
Ezra shrieks with laughter, "no Daddy! The juice pop!"
"Oh silly me," Tom plays along.
"Want some?" Ezra asks, holding the sticky pop to his father.
Tom takes a small bite from the juice pop and nods at his son, agreeing with it's goodness.
"You too?" Ezra asks and extends the juice pop once more.
"Sure," you nod and take a bite. It's definitely sweet but the mango flavor is actually well done, "mmm, it is yummy."
Ezra nods in a way that says 'duh, of course it's yummy' before returning to finishing it himself. You and Tom trade looks before taking seats at the table. Tom plays bad guy and locks the iPad to pause the cartoon. The four year old frowns but doesn't put up much of a protest.
"Does your head feel any better?" You ask softly.
Ezra shrugs, "a little."
You smile and run a hand through his curls, "good. That's good."
"So (Y/N) and I need to talk to you about something," Tom starts.
Ezra's attention is caught and he respectfully puts down the juice pop for the moment.
"When you hit your head you asked for Mum," Tom states.
The toddler nods, "uh-huh."
"And I'm Mom?" You ask.
Ezra looks to you and suddenly looks sheepish, "is that bad?"
"No! No not at all," you rush to say in effort to soothe the boy's worries.
Tom quickly jumps in as well, "we just wanted to make sure it wasn't an accident. Do you see her as your mum Ez?"
Ezra shrugs again, "I don't want to be in trouble."
"You're not in trouble, we're just talking," Tom reassures.
"Yes," Ezra nods, "I want a mum and (Y/N) is the bestest."
Your heart clenches in your chest and your eyes stupidly begin to water at the declaration.
"No! Don't cry!" Ezra gasps.
"I'm not sad," you promise, "just really happy...if you want I'd be more than happy to be called mom."
Ezra makes grabby hands and you swiftly get up and pull him out of the booster seat and into your arms. His arms and legs wrap around you tightly as he holds you back with ferocity. You rub your hand up and down his back, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. Your eyes flicker to Tom who is looking a little starstruck.
With one hand you sign a basic, "I love you."
Tom does it back, a blinding smile crossing his face.
Ezra doesn't let go of you until he finishes his juice pop, and you're positive he's lost his appetite for his lunch. Tom takes him to the kitchen sink to wash his sticky hands and face while you put away the lunch preparations.
The three of you, plus Tessa, head for a walk after everything is cleaned up. Ezra is nothing but a ball of energy along the way, keeping Tessa on her toes. A few blocks from the house is when you feel a hand lace with yours.
Heat rises in your cheeks as you squeeze Tom's hand in return, swinging it a little in time with your steps. Before long Ezra is sitting in a hair salon chair shaped like a firetruck, his wet curls being snipped away as he plays with the steering wheel in front of him.
"Looking good Ez," Tom says.
"Beep beep!" Ezra says, ignoring the compliment in favor of playing.
"I think he's the calmest little guy I've had in a while," the hairdresser says to the two of you.
Ezra pauses and cranes his head back to look at the hairdresser, "that's my Mummy and Daddy."
The hairdresser chuckles and nods along, "that's super cool—now head forward so I can finish your hair."
Ezra returns to playing.
Meanwhile, you find Tom's eyes and give him a stunned look.
"You're stuck with us," Tom shrugs nervously.
You hate Elizabeth. You hate her with a passion, Tom doesn't deserve to feel this nervous about something so good.
With a small side step you get close enough to wrap your arm around Tom's waist, "good. It's exactly where I want to be."