6. Belly Touching
BELLY TOUCHING
“Sometimes omegas try to touch my belly without even asking,” Emre said with a shudder. “But I don’t mind if you touch. You’re fine.”
Zenith’s gaze intensified. “Really?”
“Yes, really! Touch me!” Emre froze. “Did I really say that? Um.”
The alpha huffed, amusement lighting up his eyes. He closed the distance between them. “You’re sure,” he murmured, large hands coming up.
Emre always guarded his belly fiercely, because he had a pup in there. But there was a sense of safety with Zenith that held him still. He watched as those hands came closer, fingertips ghosting down one side of his belly. Beneath his clothes, goosebumps prickled all over his skin.
“This okay?” Zenith murmured, softly stroking Emre’s abdomen. Emre nodded, and Zenith cupped him with both palms, slow and careful.
The alpha raked his gaze over Emre, from his face down to his belly, and back up. No one had ever looked at Emre that closely, with that much care. And yet here Zenith was, running his hands over Emre and his unborn pup like they were both something to be treasured.
For a moment, Emre couldn’t breathe.
What would it be like, if Zenith were his alpha?
I don’t even know what he is.
But maybe it didn’t matter.
“Beautiful,” Zenith growled, his hands so warm through Emre’s T-shirt. He watched Emre’s face closely and rubbed his belly several more times, before carefully pulling his hands away. “May I?”
He tugged on the hem of Emre’s T-shirt.
Emre blinked. “You want to touch my naked belly?”
Zenith nodded. “And see it with my own eyes.”
Emre hesitated. “My belly doesn’t look so great. I have stretchmarks.”
“Do they bother you?”
“They’re... not great to look at.”
Zenith frowned deeply. “Why would I think badly of your stretchmarks? They’re part of you.”
“Oh.” Emre twitched. “Some of the alphas I’ve been with... they made faces when they saw my post-birth belly.”
Zenith froze. For a moment, rage flickered across his face. He turned away and drew a few deep breaths, forcing his expression into something calmer.
Only then did he look back at Emre, his voice a low growl. “They shouldn’t have done that. You did an amazing thing. An incredible thing. You carried a pup and birthed her! And that’s how they reacted to your belly? Fucking snotbags.”
Emre jerked his shoulders, feeling better. “It’s not just the stretchmarks. I have scars too.”
Zenith growled. “Sweetheart.” There was that word again. “That shouldn’t have happened to you.”
Emre twitched, unable to control his reaction.
Immediately, Zenith took a step back, looking worried. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be angry in front of you.”
“It’s not you,” Emre said hurriedly. “I just... don’t like thinking about that time.”
“Sorry.” Zenith winced. “Should I change the subject?”
Emre hesitated. It felt as though they were on the edge of a cliff, a vast unexplored ocean before them, full of possibilities. “You can keep touching my belly, if you want. You like it.”
“I do,” Zenith rumbled. He cupped Emre’s belly reverently, his hands ever so gentle.
So Emre tugged up his shirt, showing Zenith his skin with all its imperfections.
He held his breath. He knew Zenith had seen him naked yesterday, but this was different.
Zenith was looking closely at his belly now, seeing the scars for what they were: Long jagged stretchmarks all over his chest, belly, and thighs, in addition to the silvery claw and bite scars from Ronald, and the patch of pink on his neck where he had cut off Ronald’s bonding mark.
Instead of recoiling, Zenith brushed his fingers over the scars, smoothing his hands over Emre’s belly.
“There’s a baby in here,” he whispered, looking awed. Then he listened and drew a sharp breath. “I hear that heartbeat. Faster than yours.”
“Yeah,” Emre said fondly. “That’s one of the first things I hear when I wake up. That heartbeat, and Abbie’s.”
“That’s amazing,” Zenith said. He was still staring at Emre’s belly. “Have you decided on a name yet?”
“No. I thought I’d wait for the pup to be born before I pick the right name.”
“Sounds good to me.” Zenith continued to pet Emre’s belly.
There came a slow movement from within, the pup pushing against the confines of Emre’s belly. Emre took Zenith’s hand and placed it over that spot; Zenith’s eyes grew round.
“Is that—?”
“That’s the pup,” Emre said proudly.
Zenith stared, his hand frozen on Emre’s belly as the pup nudged and pushed. “Holy fuck. I can feel your baby,” the alpha whispered, meeting Emre’s eyes. “There’s really a baby in there. Fuck, what am I saying? Of course there’s a baby. It moved.”
How was it that Zenith had lived a whole century without knowing what that felt like? Maybe he had never thought to ask an omega before.
“They don’t start moving only after they’re born,” Emre said dryly. “Not like a robot you power on and off.”
“I knew that. In theory. I’ve heard about the kicks,” Zenith said sheepishly. “But this... This makes it feel real.”
He stared at Emre’s belly, at a loss for words.
Actually, Zenith was kind of cute like that, caught off-guard, his amazement open on his face.
“It felt real when I was being kicked in the stomach,” Emre said. “Second trimester kicks are vicious.”
Zenith scrunched up his face. “I can’t even... I’ve been kicked from the outside before, but... Being kicked from the inside? That doesn’t sound pleasant either.”
He hunched closer to the moving shape in Emre’s belly, tapping it lightly. “Hey,” Zenith said. “Kid. Pup. Little one. Be good in there, okay? Don’t kick your dad in the kidney, that hurts!”
Emre huffed. “It’s not as though the pup knows where my kidneys are. Or my stomach. It’ll be a while before they understand that their actions could hurt me. Hell, Abbie doesn’t even understand it yet.”
Zenith sighed. “You have the patience of a saint.” He looked Emre over. “Does anything hurt today? Do you need another rub?”
“Not yet,” Emre said, refusing to decline because it was only a matter of time until something hurt. His chest grew warm, though. “In the meantime, you could make more cookies?”
Zenith straightened, remembering. “That’s right. I was going to make cookies.”
He turned to the ingredients on the kitchen counter, measuring out butter and sugar into a mixing bowl. “More chocolate chip cookies?”
“I won’t say no to a second batch,” Emre said with a moan. “They taste so good.”
“I do like making you moan,” Zenith said, and froze.
Emre’s ears burned. “Um. Thanks. For making me moan. Over the cookies, I mean. And your... your gifts yesterday. Not the ones last night. Wait. There was more than one thing last night. The dinner was very good. I’m not talking about anything else.”
He hid his face in his hands and tried very hard not to whimper.
Zenith coughed lightly and turned on the electric mixer, which was too loud for them to have a proper conversation. That was good; it prevented Emre from swallowing the foot in his mouth.
Emre ducked his head and focused on transferring the cookies into the plastic box. When he was done, he realized that Zenith had turned off the mixer, and he was cracking eggs into the creamed butter and sugar. Zenith turned on the mixer again, adding a splash of vanilla.
“Have a seat,” Zenith said over the noise. “I don’t want your feet to hurt because you were standing around too much.”
Emre dragged over a chair and sat, watching as Abbie tumbled over her toys in Buttwheel’s cargo basket. Zenith measured out the dry ingredients and added them to his mixing bowl.
Before long, the cookie dough was portioned out on the baking tray, and it went into the oven.
“It’s like magic,” Emre said. “You make it look easy.”
Zenith gave a lopsided grin. “Any requests for a third batch of cookies? I’m thinking about making some oatmeal raisin.”
Emre wrinkled his nose. “You can have those.”
“Why? Not a fan of raisins?” Zenith looked amused.
“Raisins are evil. They’re like mean little bugs watching you and waiting to attack.”
Zenith laughed. “Got it. No raisins for you. What about oats and honey?”
“Mmm. Those sound good.”
“Those’ll be my fourth batch.” Zenith whipped up a third batch of cookie dough, easy as anything.
When the timer rang, he pulled out the chocolate chip cookies and let Emre move them onto the cooling rack.
Then he took the empty tray and portioned out more cookie dough, before popping them into the oven.
When the oatmeal raisin cookies were done and the oat and honey cookies were baking, Zenith began to wash up. Emre would feel bad about not helping, except he couldn’t do anything easily, with his belly as big as it was.
“Tea?” Zenith said. “I would offer coffee, but... I don’t have decaf.” He glanced at Emre’s belly.
Emre blushed. “What kind of tea do you have?”
Zenith opened a cabinet. “English breakfast, earl grey, peppermint, and chamomile. It’s not much of a selection, sorry.”
“English breakfast,” Emre said. “I grew up with that. My mom always stashed the teabags in a tall glass jar. It’s best with a ton of milk and sugar.”
“Yeah?” Zenith brightened and popped a mug of water into the microwave.
“No kettle?” Emre grinned.
“I’m a heathen. No kettle for me.”
“You’ve just made four batches of cookies. I think you can be forgiven.”
“Good.” Zenith puffed up his chest. When the microwave beeped, he retrieved the mug and set it in front of Emre, handing him a teabag. “Want some condensed milk?”
Emre perked up. “You have that?”
“Condensed milk is the very best kind of sin,” Zenith said. He grabbed a can from his pantry and opened it, pouring it into a glass jar.
“I want the can,” Emre blurted.
“My brothers and I used to fight over the empty can when we were at our dads’,” Zenith said, rolling his eyes. “Even though they’re hundreds of years older than me.”
“Hundreds of years?” Emre squeaked. “Are you a shapeshifter?”
“Nah. My butler is one, though.” Zenith slid the empty can across the table; Emre grabbed it and peered in, rumbling at its milk-coated sides, a thick layer of sweetened milk still at the bottom.
Emre got his tea steeping. He accepted a teaspoon from Zenith and began scooping out the leftover condensed milk, sucking it off his spoon. “Do you want some?”
Zenith huffed and dipped a tablespoon into the glass jar of condensed milk, popping it into his mouth. “I’m good, thanks. When these cookies are done, I’m going to fix Buttwheel. Keep Abbie away while I do that?”
Emre nodded. “Thanks.”
He poured some of his steeped tea into the empty can to dissolve the last of the condensed milk, then poured it back into his mug, stirring it all together. The resulting tea was sweet and milky, the way he used to make it when he was still living with his parents. It was delicious.
“It’s that good, huh?” Zenith said.
“Want a taste?”
“Sure.” The alpha accepted Emre’s mug, sipping from it. “Yeah, that’s good.”
“I wouldn’t have thought alphas had a sweet tooth,” Emre said, swallowing the ache that came with the memories. “But my dad did.”
“Yeah?” Zenith grinned. “Did he share his dessert with you?”
“He did. He would get an extra-large slice of cake or pie, so when I climbed onto his lap, he could eat some before I finished the entire slice.”
Zenith chuckled. “He sounds like a great dad.”
“He was.”
They fell into a companionable silence, filled by Abbie clamping her jaws around a squeaky duck toy and shaking it around.
Zenith melted. “Aww, she’s adorable.”
“She’s a fierce little pup,” Emre said, his heart full.
When the timer rang, Zenith reluctantly looked away from Abbie, pulling the honey oat cookies from the oven.
He set them on the table so Emre could transfer them to the cooling rack.
“Is it okay if I move Abbie out of the cart? I want full access to Buttwheel, which means emptying its cargo basket so I can tip it over.”
“Sure, I can hold her for a while,” Emre said. He held his breath as Zenith gently scooped Abbie into his arms and handed her over; Abbie yipped and squirmed, sniffing at Emre.
Zenith moved Abbie’s things onto the couch, then grabbed a toolbox from under the sink and beckoned Buttwheel over. “Hey, buddy. I’m going to take a look at your bum wheel. See if I can fix it up. Stay still for me, okay?”
Buttwheel lifted its flap and went still, sweet as an innocent child. Zenith sat next to it, curling his fingers around the cart’s steel frame.
Emre forgot about the cookies. He was entranced by the way Zenith inspected the shopping cart, careful and earnest as though he were handling an injured animal.
“Okay, I think I know what’s going on. Here.” Zenith laid Buttwheel on its side, using a wrench to unbend some twisted metal. His biceps flexed. He unscrewed the affected wheel and set it aside. “Emre, could you get me some paper towels?”
Emre tore off a few sheets and handed them over. Zenith wiped down the wheel components, carefully putting them back together. When he was satisfied, he did the same for the other three wheels, before setting Buttwheel upright.
“Roll back and forth,” Zenith said. “See if you move better now.”
The cart rocked forward and back, without a single wheel getting stuck. Emre was so thankful that his throat closed up a little.
Buttwheel made several excited squeaky sounds, bumping up against Zenith.
Zenith grinned and turned to Emre. “I did good, huh?”
“Yeah, you did. Thanks. That was really nice of you.” Emre’s heart swelled.
“Just doing my part to help.” Zenith put away his toolkit and went to scrub his hands at the sink. Only then did Emre remember the cookies he was supposed to transfer to the cooling rack.
He was so focused on not drooling over Zenith’s strong shoulders, that he jumped when the alpha stopped across the table from him.
“So,” Zenith said, a tiny smile tugging on his lips. He looked just a little bashful, which made Emre’s senses tingle.
“So...?”
“Want to talk about last night?”
Emre stopped breathing. He wasn’t prepared for that conversation. How do I get out of this? The longer he stuck around, the more likely he was to embarrass himself.
Abbie saved him.
With a whine and a wriggle, she turned to Zenith—only to give a smoky belch, a tiny ball of flame bursting from her mouth.