DETECTIVE GAST

He undid Taylor's shirt, pushing either side of it open, and with a flick of his tongue against Taylor's allowed his hands to travel down his torso.

The kiss broke with a wet noise, leaving Dunk with just enough space to admire the fit of Taylor's body in his hands. Licking his lips, he wasted no time undoing the fastenings of his trousers, and as he shifted lower down the bed, so too did Taylor's waistband go.

When was the last time? he almost wanted to ask, wrought by nothing but his own jealousy. Dunk's head dipped, nose pressing to Taylor's belly, and as he kissed down his navel and the trail of hair beneath, all that left his mouth was soft praise instead.

Taylor's thighs were warm beneath his palms, beating with his blood. Dunk spread them, but not without hooking his thumb into the opposite side of Taylor's underwear to pull the fabric to the side along the way.

Exposed like this, Taylor already looked so dirty. Dunk shivered with want, huffing warm air over his cunt as he stared.

"Gods," he mumbled, "Sorry. I need..."

The detective's old jeans came off easily enough. His underwear were plain, black, and clearly designed for function over fashion. Their edges were as worn as the rest of his outfit ; every dollar he spent on new clothes was for cute things that he added to the baby's wardrobe. Taylor trembled at the feeling of Dunk readily exposing him. There was an undeniable appeal to the other man's lack of hesitation. Little thought was spared for the bandages around his thigh. He trusted Dunk entirely.

❝Shit.❞ Taylor breathed it out when Dunk first tasted him. A warmth blossomed between his legs, aching and needy — the sort he hadn't felt in years. Really, down there hadn't received any attention since the trauma of Michaela's birth. He was always simply too tired, too stressed, too guilty to give himself any pleasure. It had been a long, long time, and Taylor felt that crash over him all at once. His toes curled, his eyes widened, and any shred of sense he possessed was moaned out with each pass of Dunk's tongue.

Immediately, his core sprang to life for Dunk. Eager, seeping, and trembling with the rest of the detective's body. Taylor's hands reached down, and his fingers entwined themselves in Dunk's shaggy locks.

❝F - Fuck, Dunk,❞ he said. His nails dug out that little headband that Michaela loved so much and discarded it to the side. Taylor's legs spread further for him, giving clear invitation for Dunk to feast freely.

Taylor thought it again as his mouth sought Dunk's, eager to steal another kiss. He barely remembered their first one, or the panicked moments after, or the way he had breathily begged Dunk to follow them home. Michaela was down for her nap ( thank God ), so her mother was able to act on every whispered desire he claimed to have before the younger man.

"Hey, hey ..." Taylor found his voice, weak and needy though it was. His palms pressed to Dunk's broad chest. "Where do you want to fuck ?"

He could feel the corner of his shabby dining room table pushing against his waist. Taylor's cheeks burned with the question, but he tried not to think about it. The bandages around his thigh were all of the encouragement he needed to keep going. There was no living forever, as these last few weeks had reminded him.

@detectivegast, unprompted.

It'd been forever since Dunk had last slept with someone, largely due to disinterest and lack of time. Between his foster father's death and his attempts to pick up the pieces in what came after, intimacy was real fuckin' far away.

He liked this, though, with Taylor: the simplicity of wanting someone who wanted him back. In a weird way, it was nice to know those parts of his body still worked-- that he still felt things, wanted things. That he could hear Taylor say the word "fuck" and groan lowly because of it, hands squeezing lightly over either side of Taylor's waist.

Christ. Get yourself together, man.

"I suppose standing's a poor idea," Dunk mumbled, even if the image made his heart skip a beat. The question was, of course, rhetorical, and even as he pressed another kiss to Taylor's lips he was offering a delicate sweep of the thumb over the part of Taylor's thigh he knew was wrapped up. Consideration.

Dunk nosed lightly at Taylor's cheek, pulling back enough to meet his eyes. "Your bed all right?

The walk back to his bedroom was slow — between his own broken gait and their eager kisses, they did not move swiftly. Taylor pulled Dunk into his little sanctum without much thought for the unmade bed or baby toys on his nightstand. It smelled like his cheap cologne. There were signed and framed football jerseys on the walls next to pictures of Michaela at every stage. An ode to the life that had been and the life that was.

Taylor sat carefully on the bed, in the well - worn space where he clearly slept. He swung his legs up, mindful of the strain such a motion caused. God, it didn't matter, though — nothing mattered when he had Dunk to reach for, to whimper for, to look at with glittering eyes that were pleading.

@detectivegast ( michaela ), non-verbal actions.

Dunk heard Michaela shuffling in before he ever saw her. Having been in the middle of washing dishes, he was swift to rinse the soap off, pat his hands dry with a paper towel, and then drop his left hand at his side-- as natural as ever-- because he had a good feeling the little lass wanted to hold it.

"Hello," he said, looking down and to his side. "Done with your nap, then, are you?"

Despite the rapid growth that was typical of little ones, Michaela's hand was still so tiny in his own. Dunk gave it a soft squeeze before coming down on one knee, looking at her small face and those big, brown eyes.

Sad brown eyes. Dunk resisted the urge to frown, lest she fear she did something wrong, but it did make him bring her hand up so he could kiss her knucklees.

The young girl didn't protest his attempts to soothe her. Instead, she shuffled closer, rumpled pink castle - themed pajamas brushing against his knee. Her palm rose. Michaela sleepily touched Dunk's face with her unoccupied hand, clearly making an effort to imitate him. If Taylor wasn't bedridden with the stomach flu, he would have laughed at that. His ( their ) daughter loved to do as Dunk did — after all, even the most mundane things were new and exciting at the age of four. Especially if they were performed by a parent.

— and that's what Dunk was, wasn't he ? Her knight in shining armor, her protector, her daddy. Michaela's lip wobbled, and she tucked herself tighter to his chest.

❝Yeah,❞ she whimpered. ❝There's a ... there's a ... ❞ Michaela's brown eyes glanced behind her. ❝Da, there's monster. I don't wanna sleep there no more. Can I nap with your nap ?❞

The local beauts have hooked me, too.

When he opened the door to Taylor's place, cooler full of fresh fins in hand, he'd expected to start making dinner. He'd expected little Belmira to have a thousand new things to tell him, and to see Taylor's enamoured expression from over her little shoulder.

He had not, in any capacity, expected that sweetness in the air.

Alesh felt his fur stand on end. As he sought Taylor's gaze, the pupil marred by his Oripathy dilated without his consent. Nostrils flaring, he took in the familiar scent of Taylor's heat, and his tail began to raise behind him, flicking sharply from side to side.

Taylor's words felt ice cold in comparison to the wave of heat that crashed over his skin. Alesh licked his lips and tasted him.

"No can do, I'm afraid. The fins," he said dryly, lifting his cooler into Taylor's view, "they'll go bad if I just leave them, Taylor.

"And I know this lasts quite a while for you. There's no way you'll make it to the freezer."

How they'd relished it, all those years ago. Alesh remembered the nectar of Taylor's slick and the swell of his belly with seed in shuddering detail. They had been sticky, and tired, and reeked of the other, and it had been remarkable.

"Let me stay just long enough to put things away..."

Another inhale of Taylor's heat had Alesh's cock throbbing, and he swallowed against the tide of arousal. In irritation Alesh clicked his tongue, laughed, and after a shake of his head fixed a dark eye on Taylor's flushed face.

Taylor's nostrils flared as he drew in a big breath. The world came crashing back down, and he shook his head in an effort to clear it. His tail smacked against the closest chair, nearly knocking it over.

Do you want me to make it better ? Alesh dared to ask. As if their previous affair hadn't ended in separation, in mutually agreed upon disaster, in a child that was forced to grow up without a father.

— and, yet, Taylor couldn't say no, try as he might to voice the indignant refusal. He was so damn lonely. Every time this happened, he dealt with it. The dragon had never once turned to outside help ; it felt like a betrayal to the love he still harbored for the man in his door. To have the object of his longing returned to him was torture.

❝Of course I do,❞ Taylor finally breathed. The honesty of it killed something in him that he couldn't explain, and a wave of hopelessness arose in the dragon. ❝You know I do, I know you — ❞ remember. Taylor's eyes stared, unwavering, at Alesh. That they were glittering with tears was a moot point. ❝We can't. This means I have eggs, Alesh. Even if I want you more than anything else in the world right now, we — please, you just need to go.❞

With his arm stretched comfortably over the back of the couch, Alesh watched Taylor with a familiar, easy-going eye. All these years apart and he was still largely the same dragon he remembered (Alesh had half a mind to ask if this place had as many ghosts as the city did): he still had the kind voice, the bright eyes, and that little note of shyness.

Taylor had always been good at his job, yes, but it was this delicate side of him that charmed Alesh so. Someone this kind couldn't have come out from the system that oppressed so many back home, and yet Taylor had. He was the only detective in all of Talos-II that Alesh truly believed when he said that he "wanted to help", and that earnest goodness must be why Taylor was blooming so fully now: a rose growing under the warm sunshine of motherhood.

I missed you, he thought of saying, but felt it too tacky to admit so soon.

❝The community's good, too. By the time I'd made my way here, there wasn't a lot of time between arriving and ... laying. Everyone was kind about the process, though ; they kept us safe and well taken care of until she was older.❞

Taylor grabbed his glass and swallowed a mouthful to cover his sudden grimace. He was talking too much about nothing. The details of his pregnancy, laying, and Belmira's hatching were for him to keep only. Hadn't that been their agreement ?

"She can speak for herself now, which means there're fewer questions about her I'd need to ask you for, no?"

Even if it wasn't the best time for teasing, it was hard to resist. Alesh had grown soft in his years selling fins, and then even softer working with Endfield Industries. Now any iota of discomfort made him desperate to keep people's spirits up, even if Taylor had every reason in the world to feel like his world was crashing around him.

Funny-- wasn't their separation meant to prevent that? Alesh chewed lightly on the corner of his lip, reaching over to refill the cup of tea he'd drank through earlier.

"And what a talker she is," he mused, leaning back with a laugh. "I had no doubt you'd be good to her all these years, but it's nice to see. She wouldn't be half this talkative if not for the loving home you've given her, you know.

"She's more beautiful than I imagined."

Alesh had never let himself dream about Taylor and their child for long, though.

❝I'm ... fond of it,❞ Taylor finally replied. ❝ — motherhood, I mean. She really is incredible.❞ As he spoke of their daughter, his voice grew sweeter and expression almost dream - like. There was no other love in the world like what he possessed for Mira.

❝All she does is talk. Even in her sleep, Alesh.❞ Taylor's ears slowly turned up. He chuckled. ❝Belmira is a gifted storyteller. She likes to get the children together. There's these ... plays she puts on for them with puppets that she makes. A lot of them are about — ❞

In a way, of course, that made this easier. In the event Taylor didn't remember, explaining how in the hell they ended up making a baby together would have been worse than pulling teeth. His sobriety spared Megumi the duty of coming up with a plausible story; they created a child because he'd failed to exorcise the cursed spirit before it dug its claws into Taylor's physiology, and it was the only thing that would keep him alive.

The pleasure that came with it-- that all-consuming, incredible sensation of pressure and wetness and warmth-- brought its own guilt, but Megumi would think about that later. That, and the glittering of Taylor's eyes as he held the swell of his own morphed stomach.

"You're reacting a lot better than I thought you would," he said. I thought you'd be more scared. Or angry. Or something.

"My name is Megumi."

Satisfied with Taylor's current temperature (he was warm, but in a sweaty post-sex kind of way as opposed to a near-death sort), he took his hand off of him. As his own adrenaline began to fade, Megumi became keenly aware of the scents they'd left behind, all heady and thick in the air. A quick glance between Taylor's thighs gave him the remarkable sight of the man's stretched cunt and the sticky mess drooling out of him, and Megumi swallowed because it made his toes curl the slightest bit inside his shoes.

He grunted while he dressed himself. Every movement was stiff, and it was obvious that he was sore. Taylor left the button on his trousers open, almost afraid of applying too much pressure atop the child in spite of how small it was. His holster was buckled over his shoulder instead of his waist. The last item that he donned was his badge, which hung from a fine chain around his neck. It was as filthy as the rest of his things. Out of principle, Taylor's thumb rubbed it half - heartedly.

Taylor let out an enormous breath when he straightened. Suddenly, the world pitched to the side, and his fingers darted out to grab Megumi's arm. The detective's large hand squeezed.

❝Hey,❞ he finally said, clearing his throat. ❝Look, I don't know ... what the fuck's going on beyond the - the — ❞ His other palm patted the baby, who he couldn't seem to detach from. ❝Megumi, right ? but here's the thing : I can't leave yet.❞

He looked around blearily, unaware of how tightly he held onto the younger man. ❝I was following a ghost. She asked for help ... ❞

Taylor had no way of knowing if his mysterious lost soul was connected to whatever transpired after he picked up the bell ( whose absence from his pocket he was dimly aware of ). Regardless, he needed to find out before he left. Earlier, he promised he would help her, and the detective never went back on his word. Especially not to the dead. Too many of them ended up abandoned and mangled by grief.

Or it should've been, if not for the fact Kai was most certainly staying in the same room Megumi spent his four years of tech school in. Knowing Nanami-san would never be the type for such sentimentality in his work, it could only be Satoru's doing. That the man still found ways to mess with Megumi even when he was thirty-six years old and married was its own kind of admirable.

"You don't have to look so concerned," was the first thing Megumi said once the door was shut. My son couldn't hide his emotions even if it killed him, he thought.

Megumi sat on the offered chair, shifting it in reverse so he could fold his arms atop it, and faced his eldest sincerely. "Nobody's sick or hurt or anything like that, I promise. I only didn't want to say this where anyone else might overhear..."

Ah. Truly, age did nothing to diminish embarrassment.

Fuck being polite, this was his dad ! and he was going to be a big brother once more ! Kai shrieked with happiness, surged to his feet, and rushed toward Megumi. All at once, the world around him dimmed, and the air grew thin. The dark - haired boy filled the space, a strange beacon of burning something born from pure happiness.

His hands gripped his father's forearms on the back of the chair. Kai pushed into it excitedly, young face but a breath away from Megumi's. Stray hairs danced in front of his bright, bright eyes.

The sight of a cursed womb-- born not just of human emotion, but of real genetic material-- made his teeth grit (and what did it mean when the thing was created in an emotional high of joy instead of the typical recipes of depression and anger?). But there was something in the detective's voice despite all this: something amazed, and awed, and everything in-between. He sounded happy-- blessed, even. Like this was the happiest day of his life.

As the creature in the man's womb disappeared from view, Megumi wrote it deeply into his memory. The flesh beneath his hand had already gone firm with proof of life, and his palm cradled it delicately.

He knew what the elders would say, of course, if they found out. This creature was an abomination and could not be allowed to live. Yet as his tendrils released the man's limbs, and as Megumi himself worked to make sure he could be lowered carefully to the ground, he was nothing but gentle. Slipping from inside the man's soft core (and half-embarrassed that he was still somewhat erect), Megumi swallowed. He had prevented the detective's death and exorcised the curse inside him before it could cause any widespread damage, but at what cost?

On the one hand, at least the Bell Curse (a first-grade) had only needed seed. In the grand scheme of things, that was a negligible price. On the other, however, Megumi knew for a fact that the creature inside the man's body was made of him... and in spite of what this tryst was meant to be, he couldn't just leave them behind.

For now, though, he swallowed and tucked himself away, careful as he zipped his pants back up. Megumi shrugged his coat off (he'd forgotten he had it on), then bent to lay it on the ground. The last thing his tendrils did before disappearing into the shadows was coax the man's limp body on top of it.

Megumi took a few steps away from the wet mess on the floor, then crouched so he was by the man's head. A long, low exhale left his nose after.

Slowly, the detective opened his eyes. They were clear ( for the first time since the other man appeared ) and a beautiful, almost startling shade of blue. Taylor looked at the stranger, really looked at him — and then nodded.

❝Yeah,❞ he replied. His voice was hoarse. ❝I can hear you ... ❞ Taylor grimaced, dimly aware of how severely he was trembling and how sore he was. He stretched his legs carefully. It took every ounce of his will not to chuckle at the cramping that riddled them. God, whoever this guy was — he was one hell of a fuck.

The detective groaned softly. His hands moved down and cupped the bottom of his belly. Taylor couldn't help but feel satisfied at the evidence of his pregnancy. It was new, and vulnerable, and should have scared the shit out of him ... yet, he found only beauty in the little swell there. His mind simply could not attach any label of fear or disgust onto the baby ; Taylor had just love to give to it.

Delirious, terrible, all - consuming love. The sort that was born from becoming a mother. Taylor's thumb stroked his sticky skin. He felt insane, exhausted, and giddy all at once.

It'd been a draining pregnancy, to say the least. The nature of curses and their existence through emotion meant that whenever Megumi wasn't around to balance him out, Kai was sapping his mother dry. Despite all that, though, Taylor spoke of his pregnancy with all the happiness in the world.

That was different, Megumi felt, from his own situation. That was a bone-deep feeling of destiny. He used to wonder how much of Taylor had been changed in the wake of the bell curse's power; looking at the teary smile on his lover's face, however, reminded him that the how didn't matter. Not really, when he was so fulfilled.

So Megumi got to his feet, careful as he manoeuvred Kai in one arm. He sat at the edge of Taylor's bed, mumbled a quiet "move over", and then settled with his back against the headrest of the bed. The position wasn't the most comfortable, but it suddenly became unbearable to be away from him. As Kai remained cradled in Megumi's left arm, his right looped gently around Taylor's shoulders.

"You're so cute," he murmured, speaking not to the baby but to the man whose hair he kissed delicately.

Megumi's thumb stroked the edge of Taylor's jaw. "I'll be a better father because I have you to raise the baby with.

He needed this — the smell, the warmth, and the weight of Megumi were a great comfort to his aching body. Taylor slid down just enough to lean back into Megumi's arm. The groan that left him was soft as he settled. His tired eyes drifted to Kai and partially closed. A palm landed on his belly again, seeking movement that would no longer come. Kai's little arm wriggled, and Taylor swallowed a sigh of adoration at seeing what those looked like outside of his womb.

❝I was meant for him,❞ Taylor said quietly. His other hand rested on top of Megumi's thigh. A tear dripped off of his chin and landed on his gown. ❝ — and I think I was also meant for you.❞ He nuzzled into Megumi's shoulder and breathed him in.

❝I am here to be the mother of your children ... and I want to be.❞ Taylor failed to notice the plural that slipped into his statement. Already, his devotion to Megumi was deeper than any other feeling in his life ( besides his almost - obsessive need to love Kai ) — would it matter if they had another baby later ? even if childbirth was brutal.

The first - year caught sight of his father as soon as he came through the doorway. Kai remembered all at once that this was a public place — that here his father was a high - ranking official of their world and a clan leader — and the crash of that knowledge back into his brain meant that he stumbled halfway through the act of going to hug Megumi. Instead, he lurched forward, planted his palms onto his knees, and quickly forced himself into the most awkward bow of his life. His long hair fell down around his face, as unruly as ever.

Kai's slender chest betrayed his panting from the run over. Still, he managed to talk through it. The trembling of his body gave away his happiness at having Megumi near.

❝Hey - hey, Dad,❞ Kai managed, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. ❝Unc — Sensei told me you'd came.❞ Gojo had added that Megumi was alone and that his wife was absent due to feeling unwell. Kai's brow furrowed as he stared at the floor. ❝Is Mom okay ? You're here to say hi, yeah, not ... nothing's bad happened, has it ?❞

@detectivegast, unprompted.

"Yes, Mum is fine," came the first of two answers.

"And no, nothing bad happened," came the second.

After that came a brief period of silence.

No matter how much Megumi thought about it, there was no way to break the news without being humiliated. He could choose better words, of course, but Kai was clever enough to boil down anything he might say to some particularly mortifying statements, like--

When we got home after taking you here, your mother and I had sad sex.

I didn't think to get a condom because we were miserable, I was hard, and he feels good raw.

He was so wet and nice after I came that I didn't pull out, so we just kept going.

And the worst thing was that they would all be correct.

It wouldn't be the first time Kai had ever learned that Taylor was pregnant with another baby. It wouldn't even be the second. But something about it being a product of them missing their eldest struck Megumi as mildly pathetic-- they couldn't conceive a kid on Valentine's Day like everyone else, apparently.

Rubbing the side of his neck, Megumi said, "I have news.

Kai gestured for Megumi to follow him. It didn't occur to him that his father had studied here before and that this path was most likely familiar. For a moment, he was just a son showing his parent to where he was staying at school. So simple, so straightforward, as if the very act of Kai being enrolled wasn't some great risk.

Eventually, Kai stopped in front of his dorm. He went in without pause, unaware that the space he inhabited now used to be his father's in his own days at Jujutsu Tech. Kai had moved the furniture to his liking and unpacked his things. Quickly, he scooped up a shirt off of the floor and threw it into the hamper in the corner. With a thoughtful hum, he pulled the chair out from the desk against the wall. His seat was the edge of his bed.

It was all he wanted to do, after all: moan with pleasure, keep the detective against him, and tilt him in such a way that all Megumi had to do was drive his cock down.

Like the man beneath him was nothing. Like he was a fucking toy.

"I'm gonna come, you stupid thing. Don't" -- the squeeze of the detective's cunt around him, consistent around his aching cock, had Megumi groaning -- "take me out of it."

He felt better than any toy Megumi had played with, though, and leagues better than his own fist in the shower. It was addicting, this smooth glide of cock splitting a body so soft and wet and warm-- fucking him and stretching him and saving him from emptiness. As his energy clashed with that of the curse inside the other man Megumi's mind fogged; why had he never done this before when it felt so natural to thrust inside this willing body?

Even as Megumi shut his eyes against the intensity of it all he found it impossible to stop moving, rocking his hips in steady, pumping motions. Slick drooled out with every unrelenting push, no doubt tainted by the cocktail of energy swirling in the man's body. Megumi throbbed with his balls pressed against him, felt himself leak a little more pre-cum inside, and for a moment desired to see his seed dripping out the man's hole more than anything resembling salvation.

"Shit," Megumi swore, head jerking in a harsh shake to physically snap himself out of it. Stop that. Stop it now.

He was close, though, and it had nothing to do with the curse burning so furiously in the detective's body. The tips of his tendrils pressed and flicked at the other man's nipples, then twisted around them to pull amidst the insistent massaging of his breasts. The faint taste of something coppery-sweet began to paint the back of Megumi's own throat, and it aroused him so badly his thrusts became less about efficiency and more about need. Sex felt incredible, pussy felt incredible, feeling the other man rock so desperately onto his cock felt incredible, and Megumi--

"Hah..."

--felt his head fall back as he filled the older man with his load.

He was shivering with it, wrought with sensitivity. The superhuman nature of his own vitality had rope after rope of hot seed spattering the detective's insides. Megumi rocked his hips, pushing his cum as deep as it could go, and struggled to sense the shift in energy in the man's body in his orgasmic high. This had to have done something-- as Megumi's palms mapped the other man's skin, he watched the black of his veins as closely as he could.

"Take it," he growled, pressing his right hand into the man's womb (so the detective could feel his cock better, so Megumi could seek that curse out better-- did it fucking matter?).

His thrusts were slow, and deep, and continued even after the tip of his dick stopped spurting cum.

They were one, the thing and he — and they celebrated as one when the stranger came.

Taylor arched his back, tensing against the tendrils. Around the other's cock, his walls seized, eager to take everything that he had to give. He yelled out with his glee, tears dripping from his lashes.

Across Taylor's figure, the lines of pulsing black paused. The milk streaming from his nipples, tinged with red, did the same. For a moment, the thing inside of him held still. Then, the mess of it moved, and Taylor's cry dipped down into something clearly half - pained.

Black energy, milk, sweat, and traces of blood stopped their natural flow and instead turned to travel down the older man's torso. Taylor's fingers and toes curled. His nails bit into the soft part of his palm. What pooled across the top of his lower abdomen was a twisted representation of the curse itself : a dark pool, filled with the sorrow and wanting that had driven them this far, which pulsed to the slow thrusts of the stranger's cock. It sank down through Taylor's flesh once it was satisfied with its size, and the skin of the detective's body distorted, becoming temporarily transparent.

Within the mess of organs there, the curse stole away the stranger's seed and an egg from the detective's own store. Taylor clenched his teeth, afraid that he would bite the tip of his tongue off at the sensation of his insides sliding about. Blood appeared, disappeared, and reappeared as black - white - red energy expanded his empty womb. A now - fertilized egg was deposited inside of it, as well as the fluid and protective sac needed to keep it safe. The curse did not have time to wait for conception — nor would it accept anything less than a baby.

So, even as Taylor groaned darkly against the feeling, the egg grew. Six weeks passed in the blink of an eye, and the bundle of cells that spawned from it inside of the detective's womb began to vaguely resemble a child in its most early stages. In its mother's warped, dark womb, it flickered with the energy required to force creation.

Taylor gasped. He felt himself speak, and his exhausted voice was tinged with awe. ❝ I'm a mother. ❞ The thing inside of him cooed at that, as soft and pliant now as a dove. Beneath the stranger's palm, Taylor's flesh returned to normal, swelled slightly, and firmed — leaving the stranger cradling the confirmation of their success ( and the pregnancy ). Above his belly, Taylor's breasts sagged, mysteriously full but stagnant.