(werepreg, magical pregnancy, intense denial, movement, rapid growth)
Older wizard with a taste for werecreatures goes out once a month to get fucked under the full moon by whatever's prowling around.
One night, he gets lucky when a werewolf and a werebear, much more interested in mating a wizard than fighting each other, cross his path.
Five months later, the wizard gives in and visits the court physician.
The physician takes one look at the wizard and gives him the obvious diagnosis, which is immediately waved away by his reluctant patient.
Pregnant? At his age?
Sure, he's felt out of sorts for weeks, and now his belly is so swollen and upset it feels like something's kicking in there, but that doesn't mean there actually is!
His mind's eye lands on all the different weres that have filled him up in the last few months...
But they're not even human!
That settles it, he can't be pregnant. There must be something else.
The physician, after watching his words hurtle around the stunned wizard's brain for a few minutes, gently suggests a magical peek into the wizard's belly.
The wizard agrees just to prove he's fine, and a few minutes later he's lying on the physician's exam table, robes pulled up to his chest, watching some druidy herby paste be applied to his belly.
From this perspective, he does look rather... round. And his roundness is very... active. So much so, in fact, that the physician is muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like 'I can feel the kicks. Blasted wizards always think they're smarter than you.'
Then the ritual is done, and it's the physician's turn to be shocked into silence as he reads the results in the runes.
Eventually, he manages a 'that's not a baby.'
'Ha!'
Obviously, the stupid physician doesn't know what he's talking about.
The wizard triumphiantly shuffles off the table.
'Just give me some potion to help with the bloating, and I can go back to work.'
Eyes firmly glued to the wizard's belly (clothed once more but still visibly writhing), the physician tries to shut out the persistent images of monsters ploughing the old wizard as well as his rising temper at that wizard's attitude. How the can anyone not notice they're having... cubs? Inspiration dawns on him. Tonight should be... yes.
He smugly tells the wizard to come back tomorrow and his 'potion' will be ready.
Frowning in disappointment, the wizard nonetheless senses that it would be unwise to press the issue. Still, he had hoped to be cured before his monthly excursion tonight. He won't be making it to the forest like this.
That evening, determined to still enjoy the full moon in some way, the wizard opens the huge windows, bathing his quarters at the very top of the tower in pale white light.
Robes discarded on the floor, he makes himself comfortable on the daybed near the windows and jumps in surprise when his already quite active, rotund middle starts to thrash even more intensely. Before his very eyes, his belly grows in shocky spurts until it's doubled in size.
Stupefied, the wizard sees claws move under his skin. There must be a whole litter of werecubs in there!
How could that idiotic physician have missed this?
