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The apartment was wrapped in quiet. Beyond the windows, the city pulsed faintly, a muted rhythm of traffic and neon that never fully slept. But inside, everything had gone still. Dara’s room down the hall was dark, her steady breathing lost in dreams.
In the master bedroom, the lamp on the nightstand cast a soft glow. Its light pooled across the quilt and the curve of Phuwin’s belly, now swollen with eight months of carrying. Not enormous, not yet clumsy enough to weigh every step, but heavy enough that every movement came with a wince or a sigh.
Phuwin lay propped against pillows, hair damp from his evening shower, white cotton pajamas loose on his frame. The fabric stretched gently over the mound of his stomach. By the eighth month, the crisis had blurred into routine. It had been weeks since the hospital, weeks since the numbers first steadied. The swelling had subsided, his check ups had been steady, and the apartment had grown quiet again, their lives circling cautiously around numbers and monitors.
The door creaked. Pond entered quietly, barefoot, wearing only a soft gray T-shirt and the sweatpants he always refused to throw away, loose at the waistband, no barrier beneath. He carried a glass of water in one hand and Phuwin’s blood pressure monitor in the other.
“Time to check,” Pond said softly, the words more ritual than instruction.
Phuwin groaned. “Again?”
“You know the rules.” Pond set the items down on the nightstand, his gaze sweeping automatically over Phuwin’s body: the color of his skin, the set of his breathing, the way his fingers tapped impatiently against the sheet. A thousand silent questions filled his eyes: Was there pain? Dizziness? Swelling? He had learned to scan without asking.
Phuwin offered his arm with exaggerated reluctance. “You’re worse than the nurse.”
“Maybe,” Pond said, sliding the cuff gently around his arm, “but you love me anyway.”
The machine hummed. Numbers blinked across the small screen. Normal. Controlled. Pond exhaled through his nose, relief loosening his shoulders. Weeks of stability had made Pond exhale a little easier. He set the device aside, kissed Phuwin’s temple, and tucked the blanket more securely around him.
But with safety came restlessness. Nights stretched long, filled with the hum of machines and the silence of restraint. The apartment had settled into a careful routine: numbers, pills, scheduled naps, until even Phuwin began to feel like he was living more as a patient than a partner. Dara brought him tea, Pond fussed over pillows and salt intake, but what no one gave him anymore was the simple touch of being wanted. The thought lodged deep, growing heavier with every quiet night.
“You’re safe,” Pond murmured, as much to himself as to his partner.
Phuwin missed the old nights. The ones where Pond’s hands wandered without hesitation, where kisses weren’t preceded by blood pressure checks. Sometimes he wondered if Pond still saw him as beautiful or only as fragile. He hated how easily fear had turned intimacy into something forbidden, as though his body had lost all its beauty, reduced only to risk. The baby rolled, a reminder of what they had fought for, but still, a small ache whispered: was he still desirable to the man who loved him?
Phuwin shifted restlessly against the pillows, one hand absently smoothing over the heavy curve of his belly. Eight months in, the baby felt like a constant presence: rolling, pressing, demanding space in every breath. But tonight, something else stirred in him, a restless hunger that refused to be quieted by tea, or soft blankets, or even Pond’s steady hand rubbing circles on his back.
He turned his head, eyes dark in the lamplight. “Pond.” His voice was low, deliberate. “Please. I need you.”
Pond glanced down, already wary. “You mean water? Another pillow?”
“No.” Phuwin’s fingers tightened in the fabric of Pond’s shirt. “You.”
The word landed like a weight. Pond froze, his chest tightening. He knew that look in Phuwin’s eyes, that mixture of need and mischief, but tonight all he felt was fear coiling sharp in his gut.
“Phuwin…” Pond’s voice cracked with tenderness and fear. “We’ve come so far. The doctor was clear. No sex, no orgasms, no risks. I can’t go through losing you again, not when we’ve fought this hard.”
“That’s the first thing you always say,” Phuwin shot back, lips trembling between a pout and a plea. “But my blood pressure’s been stable for weeks. No swelling. No headaches. You saw the numbers.”
Pond shook his head, jaw tight. “Stable doesn’t mean safe. I can’t take that chance with you or the baby.”
Phuwin leaned closer, breath warm against Pond’s neck. “Then not inside. Not that. Just your mouth. Please, Pond. I can’t sleep like this.”
The request hit him like a punch. Pond’s throat went dry, desire warring with dread. He cupped Phuwin’s face, thumb brushing his cheek, trying to anchor him. “No,” he whispered, softer this time. “What if your pressure spikes? I won’t gamble with you. Not like that.”
Phuwin’s eyes glistened, his voice breaking down into something rawer, less guarded. He pressed their foreheads together, whispering like a man confessing. “I can’t stand it anymore. I need to feel wanted, even like this. I need to feel like your partner, not just your patient.” His hands clutched Pond’s shoulders, desperate. His voice wavered, lower now, almost a confession. “Sometimes I wonder if I still look beautiful to you… or if all you see is risk. Tell me I’m wrong. Show me.”
The words shattered something in Pond, but still he shook his head, eyes squeezed shut. “If anything happened, if I was the reason, you don’t understand. I could never forgive myself.”
Phuwin went quiet then, staring at him with an intensity that made Pond ache. Slowly, deliberately, he slid Pond’s hand down to rest against the firm swell of his belly, where a faint kick pulsed under the skin. “We’re both asking you,” he whispered. His smile was small, trembling, but there was fire in it. “Your baby and me. Don’t turn us away again.”
The room seemed to hold its breath. Pond’s hand trembled where it rested, torn between fear and the desperate heat of the man he loved.
For a long moment, Pond couldn’t breathe. The kick beneath his palm lingered like a reminder: not just his husband, but their child, fragile and waiting. His throat worked around the lump rising there, torn between instinct and the plea in Phuwin’s eyes.
“Phuwin…” he tried again, but the name cracked apart in his mouth.
Phuwin didn’t let him pull away. His hands clutched at Pond’s wrist with startling strength. “I’m not asking for danger,” he whispered. “Just for you. Just for a piece of what we still are. I can’t be only a body that hurts, that bloats, that scares you. Let me feel like myself again. Let me feel like yours.”
Pond’s chest twisted. He had stood firm through tantrums, through cravings, through the endless tide of restless nights. But this wasn’t mischief. It wasn’t manipulation. This was Phuwin laid bare, aching for connection, desperate not to lose the thread of who they were beneath all the rules and fear.
He opened his mouth for a fourth “no,” but the word died on his tongue. Instead, what came out was broken, low. “You’ll tell me the moment it’s too much. If anything feels wrong, you stop me.”
Phuwin’s breath caught, a sound closer to relief than triumph. His forehead pressed into Pond’s, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “I swear. Just don’t make me beg anymore.”
And just like that, the wall gave way.
Pond kissed him, fierce and trembling, like he could drown in the taste of him. His hands, though, betrayed his terror: checking, measuring, grounding. One slid to Phuwin’s pulse at his throat, feeling the beat steady beneath his skin. The other splayed over his belly, as though guarding the life within. Even as Phuwin deepened the kiss, arching toward him with a needy whimper, Pond’s fingers lingered there: counting the rhythm, steadying himself in the proof that both heartbeats were still strong.
“Lie back,” Pond murmured at last, voice rough, reluctant. “Let me watch you.”
Phuwin obeyed, sinking against the pillows with a smile that was all hunger and relief. He tugged gently at Pond’s shirt, urging him closer. Pond settled between his thighs, eyes shadowed with both desire and fear. He pressed another kiss, softer now, then whispered, “You’re sure?”
Phuwin’s answer was a single, pleading word, raw with need. “Yes.”
Phuwin lay back against the pillows, his belly rounding beneath the thin fabric of his sleep shirt, his breath already quick with anticipation. The glow from the bedside lamp painted him in soft amber, every curve of his face etched in warmth. He parted his lips, watching Pond like he was waiting for salvation.
Pond knelt between his thighs, his large hands braced on either side of him. His eyes searched Phuwin’s, torn between hunger and fear. For a moment he didn’t move, just looked, drinking him in as though memorizing every line.
Then Phuwin whispered, “Please.” The sound was small but urgent, carrying weeks of pent up want.
Pond’s hands trembled as they hovered over Phuwin’s thighs. He watched the slight rise and fall of Phuwin’s chest, the faint pulse fluttering at his throat. The faint scent of Phuwin’s shower gel, oat milk and shea butter, mingled with something else, something muskier and deeper that was purely Phuwin’s own. He inhaled, a slow, deliberate breath, trying to steady the frantic drum of his heart.
His fingers moved almost on their own, slipping beneath the loose waistband of Phuwin’s pajama pants. The fabric slid down just enough to reveal the heat beneath. Phuwin was already half hard, the length of him flushed and heavy against his belly, glistening faintly in the low light. The sight hit Pond like a blow, sharp and dizzying.
The fear still buzzed, a low hum under his ribs, but Phuwin’s gaze, soft, trusting, pulled him forward.
The worn fabric of his sweatpants started to stretch taut across his hips. He didn’t look down, didn’t allow himself to acknowledge the insistent throb that was building. His focus remained on Phuwin, on the slight tremor in his lower lip, the shallow breaths that hinted at a vulnerability he rarely showed.
Pond’s fingers, gentle as falling snow, traced the inner curve of Phuwin’s thigh, just above the knee. Phuwin’s skin felt warm, impossibly soft, a stark contrast to the rigid tension tightening Pond’s own muscles. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over Phuwin’s belly, now a prominent, undeniable swell. The baby shifted, a slow, rolling movement that sent a ripple across Phuwin’s skin, a silent reminder of the precious cargo. Pond’s hand instinctively pressed over it, a silent prayer, a silent promise.
“Relax,” Pond murmured, his voice a low rumble against the quiet of the room. He didn’t look up, his eyes fixed on the gentle slope of Phuwin’s body, on the pale skin that stretched taut over bone and muscle. He shifted, adjusting himself to kneel more comfortably between Phuwin’s splayed legs, his knees pressing lightly against the mattress. The pillows he had arranged earlier cradled Phuwin’s back, propping him up just enough to offer an unobstructed view.
Phuwin’s hips twitched, a subtle invitation. His eyes, dark and heavy lidded, watched Pond with an intensity that pulled at something deep inside him. A faint flush bloomed high on Phuwin’s cheekbones, a blush that spoke of both vulnerability and burgeoning desire.
Pond lowered his head, the scent of Phuwin’s skin filling his nostrils. He kissed the pale skin of Phuwin’s inner thigh, a feather light touch that sent a shiver through Phuwin’s frame. He trailed kisses higher, inch by agonizing inch, his tongue tasting the faint salt of sweat, the unique tang of arousal.
Phuwin’s breath hitched, a soft gasp that broke the silence. His fingers tangled in Pond’s hair, not pulling, but holding, a silent anchor.
Pond reached Phuwin’s cock, a soft, pale column, still semi hard and slick with a thin sheen of precum. He paused, his gaze sweeping over it, appreciating the delicate flush that dusted its head, the faint tracery of veins beneath the skin. He took his time, allowing the moment to stretch, to swell with unspoken need.
He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive tip, tasting the faint sweetness. A soft hum vibrated in Phuwin’s throat, a low, pleased sound that resonated through Pond’s own chest. Pond’s tongue flicked out, a single, tentative dart, tracing the rim of the glans. Phuwin arched, a soft moan escaping his lips, his hips lifting slightly from the mattress.
Pond took him in, slowly, carefully, his lips wrapping around the shaft, his tongue swirling around the head. He sucked gently, drawing Phuwin deeper into his mouth. The warmth, the slickness, the subtle resistance of Phuwin’s flesh against his tongue, flooded his senses. He worked his way down the shaft, his lips and tongue creating a gentle suction, a rhythmic pulling that made Phuwin groan, a deeper, more guttural sound this time.
Phuwin’s fingers tightened in Pond’s hair, a soft tug now, urging him on. His hips began to move, a slow, almost imperceptible rock against the mattress. Pond felt the subtle shift of Phuwin’s balls, soft and warm against his chin, brushing his jawline with each gentle thrust. He could feel the pulse thrumming beneath his tongue, a frantic beat that mirrored the one in his own chest.
Pond’s own cock, already thick and heavy in his sweatpants, twitched, a violent tremor that pulled his attention for a split second. The fabric was stretched so tight it felt like it might rip, the outline of his hard on stark and undeniable. He pressed his knees together, trying to alleviate the pressure, but it was useless. Every sound from Phuwin, every soft groan, every ragged breath, sent a fresh wave of heat through him, making his erection ache with a desperate need.
He forced himself to focus, to push away the distraction of his own burgeoning arousal. This was for Phuwin. This was about giving, about tending to the man who carried their child, who had endured so much. He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the sensation, on the subtle shifts in Phuwin’s body. He drew Phuwin deeper into his throat, sucking with a long, slow pull, his tongue circling the base, teasing the sensitive skin.
“Ah… Pond…” Phuwin’s voice was a ragged whisper, strained with pleasure. His fingers dug lightly into Pond’s scalp, a silent command.
Pond varied his rhythm, sometimes slow and languid, sometimes a little faster, a gentle bobbing motion that brought a low, contented moan from Phuwin. He used his tongue, flicking it against the underside of Phuwin’s shaft, feeling the sensitive ridge beneath. He sucked harder, drawing Phuwin’s balls gently into his mouth, tasting the faint saltiness there, the delicate skin.
Phuwin’s hips began to buck, a gentle, insistent rhythm. His breathing grew shallow, punctuated by gasps and whimpers. Pond could feel the tremor starting in Phuwin’s thighs, a subtle shaking that intensified with each stroke. He tasted the increasing slickness, the precum thickening, growing more abundant. He knew Phuwin was close.
His own body screamed in protest, his cock a rigid column pressing painfully against the inside of his sweatpants. It was almost unbearable, the combination of intense arousal and the desperate need to deny it, to remain in control. He felt the blood pounding in his ears, a roaring tide that threatened to drown out everything else.
He looked up for a moment, his eyes meeting Phuwin’s. Phuwin’s face was flushed, his eyes half closed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looked beautiful, utterly consumed by pleasure, and the sight sent a fresh jolt of desire through Pond, hot and sharp.
Phuwin’s eyes flickered open, meeting Pond’s gaze. His lips parted, a soft, breathless sound escaping. His gaze dropped, drawn by the undeniable bulge straining against Pond’s sweatpants. A faint smile, tinged with a delicious mischief, played on his lips. He saw it, he knew. The intimacy of the moment made it impossible to hide.
Pond swallowed hard, his throat dry. He increased his pace, sucking faster, deeper, his tongue circling the sensitive head, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. He felt Phuwin’s body tense, a sudden, violent arch, his back lifting from the pillows.
“Oh! Oh, Pond!” Phuwin’s voice was a choked cry, a desperate plea. His muscles seized, his body convulsing against Pond’s mouth. Pond felt the sudden gush, the hot, slick release of Phuwin’s cum flooding his mouth, coating his tongue, warm and thick. He swallowed, a primal instinct, taking every drop.
Phuwin’s body went rigid, then sagged back against the pillows, a long, shuddering exhale escaping his lips. His hips settled, his legs falling open, trembling. But almost instantly, a ripple ran through him, low and sharp. Phuwin's hand flew to his belly, clutching as his muscles clenched tight around the swell. A small contraction, just a squeeze, but enough to send Pond jerking upright, wiping his mouth in alarm.
“Phuwin?!” His hands were on him at once: palming his belly, checking his pulse again, scanning his face as though he could will the truth from him. Panic carved lines deep into his forehead. “Was that, was that a contraction? God, I shouldn’t have--”
Phuwin, still trembling from climax, reached for him weakly, cupping his cheek. His voice was soft but steady. “Shh. It’s okay. Just a Braxton Hicks. Happens sometimes.”
Pond froze. The taste of Phuwin’s cum was still on his tongue, the warmth still lingering in his throat, but it turned to ash. His own hard on, still painfully erect, felt like a branding iron against his thigh.
“God,” Pond finally breathed, the word torn from his chest, raw with terror. His voice was barely a whisper, thick with guilt. “We shouldn’t have done this.” He scrambled back, away from Phuwin, away from the bed, as if the proximity would somehow cause more harm. His sweatpants clung to his painfully erect cock, the outline stark against the gray fabric, but the pleasure had evaporated, replaced by a crushing wave of self reproach.
“I’ll… I’ll just go to the bathroom,” he stammered, his voice hoarse. He gestured vaguely toward the door, his hand trembling. “I can… I can finish myself there. I can’t… I can’t risk stressing you further. Not now.” He felt dirty, ashamed, the desire that had consumed him moments before now a grotesque, mocking presence. He turned to leave, desperate to escape the scene of his perceived failure.
Phuwin, though tired and shaky, watched him. His breathing was still a little shallow, but the contraction had already begun to ease, the knot in his belly softening. His eyes, though weary, were clear. He saw Pond’s rigid form, the unmistakable outline of his erection straining against the thin fabric. He saw the genuine distress etched on Pond’s face, the self loathing in his eyes.
Phuwin slowly, carefully, extended his hand. His fingers, pale and delicate, grab Pond’s wrist. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it stopped Pond mid stride.
“Don’t leave me out,” Phuwin whispered, his voice soft, a fragile thread in the suddenly cavernous silence of the room. It was insistent, though, a quiet strength beneath the weariness. “Let me take care of you.”
Pond shook his head, a violent motion that sent his dark hair flopping across his forehead. His eyes were wide, panicked. “No,” he choked out, the word raw. “No. You just had a contraction. I can’t ask more of you. I won’t.” He took a step back, trying to pull away from Phuwin’s touch, but Phuwin’s fingers, surprisingly strong, tightened around his wrist.
“Pond,” Phuwin pleaded, his voice cracking, a raw edge of emotion in it. “Please. I want to give back. I don’t want you suffering alone.” His eyes, dark and earnest, filled with a desperate intensity. “This intimacy… it makes me feel less like a patient. It makes me feel like… like me again. Like your husband. Not just… not just this.” He gestured vaguely at his belly, at his tired form, the unspoken weight of his pregnancy hanging heavy in the air. His voice dropped to a low, almost pleading whisper. “Don’t you understand? I need this as much as you do. To feel connected. To feel… whole.”
Pond hesitated, torn. The desire, which had been brutally suppressed, began to stir again, a faint throb beneath the layers of guilt and fear. Phuwin’s words, raw and honest, resonated with something deep inside him, something that longed for connection, for the easy intimacy they had shared before the shadow of risk had fallen over them. But the fear remained, a cold knot in his stomach, a vivid memory of the contraction, the sudden terror.
He looked at Phuwin, really looked at him. Phuwin’s eyes, though tired, held no trace of pain, only a profound, aching need. His lips were parted slightly, his breath still shallow, but steady. The faint flush had returned to his cheeks, not from distress, but from the earnestness of his plea.
Slowly, agonizingly, Pond relented. His shoulders slumped, the tension seeping out of him in a long, shaky exhale. He shifted to his knees, angling himself at Phuwin’s side. From there, he stayed close, near enough to reach, near enough to matter, his eyes never leaving Phuwin’s face, searching, waiting.
“The second you feel pain,” Pond warned, his voice low, rough with emotion, “the second anything feels wrong, we stop. Immediately. Do you understand?” His gaze was unwavering, searching for any doubt, any hesitation.
Phuwin nodded, a small, decisive movement. “I understand. I promise.” His hand, resting on Pond’s thigh, squeezed gently, a silent reassurance.
Phuwin shifted, carefully, easing himself up further against the pillows, leaning forward with Pond’s help. His gaze, now filled with a quiet determination, dropped to Pond’s sweatpants, to the undeniable bulge that strained against the fabric. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips, a hint of his usual playful confidence returning.
Pond watched him, a knot of apprehension still coiled in his gut, but a spark of desperate hope beginning to ignite. He felt the heat radiating from Phuwin’s body, the subtle scent of his arousal, and his own cock twitched, a painful throb of anticipation.
Phuwin reached out, his fingers, surprisingly strong, grasping the waistband of Pond’s sweatpants. He tugged, slowly, deliberately, pulling the soft fabric down over Pond’s hips, revealing the thick, engorged shaft that sprang free. Pond’s breath hitched. His cock, freed from its confinement, sprang upwards, rigid and throbbing, a deep crimson flush mottling its length. A bead of precum, thick and pearlescent, gleamed at its tip.
Phuwin’s eyes widened slightly, a silent appreciation. He reached out, his fingers closing around Pond’s shaft, his thumb stroking the sensitive head. Pond groaned, a low, involuntary sound, his head tilting back. The warmth of Phuwin’s hand, the gentle pressure, sent a jolt of pure pleasure through him, a sensation so intense it bordered on pain.
Phuwin leaned in, slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving Pond’s. His lips, soft and full, parted slightly. He took Pond in, not with the eager hunger Pond had used on him, but with a slow, almost reverent tenderness. His mouth closed around the head, his tongue flicking out to taste the precum, a low hum vibrating in his throat.
Pond’s breath caught. He felt Phuwin’s lips, soft and warm, drawing him in, slowly, inch by agonizing inch. Phuwin’s tongue swirled around the tip, a delicate caress that sent shivers down Pond’s spine. He sucked gently, drawing Pond deeper into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing. Pond felt the subtle pressure of Phuwin’s teeth, not biting, but a gentle scraping that sent a jolt of exquisite sensation through him.
Phuwin worked his way down the shaft, his lips and tongue creating a gentle suction, a rhythmic pulling that made Pond groan again, a deeper, more guttural sound this time. He felt the delicate caress of Phuwin’s fingers, still wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking the sensitive skin of his balls, gently cupping them.
Pond’s body tensed, every muscle screaming for release. The fear, though still present, was beginning to recede, overwhelmed by the sheer, overwhelming pleasure. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the frantic beat of his heart.
Phuwin used his tongue, flicking it against the underside of Pond’s shaft, feeling the sensitive ridge beneath. He sucked harder, drawing Pond’s balls gently into his mouth, tasting the faint saltiness there, the delicate skin.
Pond’s fingers, trembling slightly, tangled in Phuwin’s soft dark hair. He didn’t pull, didn’t urge him on, simply held him, allowing himself to be consumed by the sensation. He closed his eyes, his head falling back against the pillows, a desperate whimper escaping his lips.
Phuwin’s mouth tightened, a gentle squeeze that sent a fresh jolt of pleasure through Pond. He felt Phuwin’s tongue swirling around the head, then flicking against the sensitive rim, teasing, tormenting. Pond’s hips began to buck, a slow, almost imperceptible rhythm, an instinctive response to the exquisite pleasure.
“Phuwin…” Pond’s voice was a ragged whisper, strained with pleasure and the desperate need to hold back. He was so close, too close. The tension, which had been building for weeks, now threatened to overwhelm him. He tried to resist, to slow himself down, to prolong the moment, but Phuwin’s mouth, his tongue, his gentle touch, made it impossible.
Phuwin’s eyes flickered up, meeting Pond’s. A slow, triumphant smile bloomed on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of Pond’s struggle. He leaned in closer, sucking harder, drawing Pond deeper into his throat. Pond felt the delicate pressure of Phuwin’s palate against his cock, the warm, wet embrace of his mouth.
Pond’s body tensed, every muscle seizing. A violent tremor began in his thighs, spreading rapidly through his entire frame. He arched his back, his hips thrusting forward, desperately seeking more.
“Oh! Oh, God, Phuwin!” Pond’s voice was a choked cry, a desperate plea. His body convulsed, a violent, almost painful release. He felt the sudden gush, the hot, slick torrent of his cum flooding Phuwin’s mouth, coating his tongue, warm and thick. He bucked again, a final, desperate thrust, emptying himself into Phuwin’s mouth.
Phuwin took it all, swallowing, his throat working. He didn’t pull away until the last spasm had subsided, until Pond’s body had gone limp, trembling, his cock still throbbing, but softening.
Pond sagged back against the pillows, a long, shuddering exhale escaping his lips. Relief, profound and overwhelming, washed over him, mixing with a fresh wave of guilt. He had finished. He had given in. He opened his eyes, his gaze immediately going to Phuwin. Phuwin’s face was flushed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his lips glistening. He looked tired, but his eyes were bright, a soft smile playing on his lips.
Pond reached out, his hand trembling slightly, cupping Phuwin’s cheek. His thumb stroked the soft skin, his eyes searching, searching for any sign of discomfort, any hint of pain.
“Are you… are you okay?” Pond’s voice was raw, thick with emotion. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against Phuwin’s, his breath still ragged. “Are you sure? No pain? No… no tightening?”
Phuwin’s hand came up, covering Pond’s on his cheek. His fingers laced with Pond’s, a gentle squeeze. “I’m okay, Pond,” he whispered, his voice soft, a little breathless. “I promise. I’m okay.” He leaned into Pond’s touch, a soft, contented sigh escaping his lips. “See? No contractions. Just… just you.”
Pond pulled back slightly, his eyes still scanning Phuwin’s face, his body. He reached out, his hand splaying over Phuwin’s belly, feeling the soft, relaxed muscle beneath his palm. No tightening. No knots. Just the gentle swell of their child, resting peacefully within.
Still, habit won out. Pond reached for the monitor again, sliding the cuff gently around Phuwin’s arm while his other hand stayed splayed over the swell of his belly. The numbers blinked steady. Normal. Safe. Only then did he allow himself to breathe fully. Phuwin watched him fuss, a tired laugh catching in his throat. “See? Still me. Still here.” And for the first time since the hospital, Phuwin felt whole. Not just surviving, but loved.
Pond leaned in, pulling Phuwin close, cradling him against his chest. He buried his face in Phuwin’s hair, inhaling the familiar scent, holding him tight, as if to reassure himself that Phuwin was truly there, truly safe.
“I’m sorry,” Pond murmured, his voice muffled against Phuwin’s hair, a whisper of lingering guilt. “I was so… so scared.”
Phuwin’s arms wrapped around Pond’s waist, holding him just as tightly. “I know,” he whispered back, his voice soft, understanding. “But we’re okay. We’re both okay.” He pressed a soft kiss against Pond’s shoulder, a gentle reassurance. “Thank you, Pond. Thank you for… for not leaving me out.”
Pond pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting Phuwin’s. He saw gratitude there, relief, and the spark of playful mischief that had always made him weak.
“You’re tired,” Pond murmured, smoothing damp hair from Phuwin’s forehead.
“Stay,” Phuwin whispered, his eyes already drifting shut. “Just… stay here. With me.”
Pond relented, settling under the covers beside him, his arm draped protectively across Phuwin’s belly. He felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the soft thrum of his heart, and the quiet weight of the child between them.
For a long moment, Pond just listened to Phuwin’s breath, the faint hum of the city outside, the silence that wrapped around them like a blessing. He understood now that intimacy wasn’t about release, but about connection. Phuwin hadn’t wanted danger, only to feel like himself again, like Pond’s partner, not just a patient.
Pond kissed his temple, holding him close. The fears would never vanish entirely, but tonight they had found their way through them, together. That was enough.