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Keng is a yearner.
And a proud one, at that. Yes, he’s in love; what of it? He’s ready to scream it from the rooftops, to cater to his omega’s every whim, to be wrapped around his little finger.
Keng loves his mate.
Craves, cherishes, adores, longs for, in fact there isn’t a word in any language to fully encompass what he feels for him, his heart so full it might jump out of his chest any moment now and fall straight into Ping’s palms.
He’d spoil him, because he deserves nothing less; he’d concede first because the happy smile blooming on Ping’s face is a hundred times worth it.
Yes, he’s in love, madly.
He’s not ashamed of it, not the slightest bit, but oh, this newfound rich emotional palette of Ping’s–safe to say, it’s painted Keng’s life in broad, merciless strokes, filling it with bright, most unexpectant colors.
He takes pride in his skill of taking care of Ping to the best of his ability, better than anyone else could, but lately he feels like he’s out of his depth.
Juggling two roles at the same time is a piece of cake compared to handling your mate’s late night cravings and mood swings. First, he could deal with, even though Ping hated the idea of sending staff to buy whatever it was he craved at the moment. He wanted Keng to get it himself, be a provider in the most animalistic sense of the word, which certainly added to the challenge. Still, the moods were much, much worse.
Ping has always been the one to make him work for it, prove himself, but never to this extent.
Now he can never decide if he wants Keng or not, if he’s mad at him or hungry for him.
He’d make him sleep on the couch and then scold him for abandoning his “poor, pregnant mate alone in his misery.”
Keng’d lost count of how many times he’s been called heartless.
He’d lost count of how many times he’s been made to cook noodles.
“P’Keng!” A clear voice cuts through his reverie, the usual sulky tone that immediately calls him to action. He hastily stirs the soup again (thankfully no noodles this time) and lowers the heat before hurrying to the bedroom, a besotted sailor lured by the singing of his very high maintenance siren.
“Yes?” He asks softly, head cautiously poking through the door.
Keng can read the neediness in his scent, being able to sense the slightest change in his partner’s mood ever since they marked each other. Not that it helped him much since the pregnancy hormones kicked in.
“Stop cooking. I want cuddles.” Namping orders, meeting his eyes steadily. He arches a brow, as if daring Keng to decline.
He smells the same and yet different–sweet and tangy, like softness and strength combined, with a tantalizing hint of Keng’s own scent–heady and potent like strong, spicy wine. It’s gotten even more pronounced since the mating and pregnancy–Ping smelling like him all the time, even when they’re not tangled together, and it’s driving Keng insane.
“Of course, baby,” he acquiesces in the gentlest tone possible. “But let me finish the shrimp soup first. Weren’t you craving it, hmm?”
Ping pouts at him, clearly dissatisfied with the answer.
“I’m not hungry anymore.” He bites out.
“You need nutrition now, okay khrub?” Keng coaxes gently, unable to contain a fond smile as he steals a glance at his visibly rounded stomach. “You’re eating for two now.”
Ping shakes his head, stubborn; then his eyes widen a fraction and suddenly his expression sours even more, the realization he came to instantly scaring the living daylights out of Keng.
“You don’t want to touch me,” Namping says with grim conviction, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t like me now because I’m fat. At least tell me that to my face. No need to come up with some lame excuses.”
Keng wants to laugh, the idea of not wanting to touch Ping absurd to an impossible degree, but he knows Ping will take it all wrong, so he quickly suppresses the urge.
“That’s not true,” he reassures patiently instead. “I like you so much, Pung. I always want to touch you.”
He steps into the room, approaching the bed in quick strides to give his mate the affection he deserves, but clearly Ping has other ideas.
“Too bad," he says, angling his body away and shuffling out of reach. “I changed my mind, I don’t want to hug you anymore.”
Keng plants himself on the bed, smiling placatingly as he wraps his arms snugly around Namping, biting slightly at his soft, delectable cheek when he turns his face away in protest.
"Don’t be mad at me, little one,” he coaxes, rubbing his face against Namping’s neck, scenting him. “Tell me what you want to eat.”
Ping perks up instantly.
“Ice cream.” His face brightens up at the prospect of a sweet treat, and Keng lets out a sigh of relief.
That, he can work with.
It almost seems too easy.
Deceptively so.
“What flavour?” He asks tentatively, feeling like his life is depending on the answer.
What’s with this anxiety over ice cream? Could it be possible that alphas could pick up their pregnant mates’ moods?
Might be a good idea to read up on that.
“Fish sauce caramel,” Namping says, and all thoughts about reading instantly evaporate from his mind.
Keng feels a shudder run through his body as his brain registers the combination of flavours.
Something in his expression must give him away because frustration flashes in Ping’s eyes as he wriggles out of Keng’s embrace.
“Nevermind,” he says, turning his back on Keng. His scent sours.
“I’m sleepy. Go away.”
“Baby…” Keng reaches out to rub soothing circles over his back. He’s far from giving up just yet. “Are you sure there is such a thing as fish sauce caramel ice cream?”
“I told you, forget it,” Ping mutters into his pillow, resigned.
Keng sighs.
ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ ִֶָ ♡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🦆་༘࿐
He wished it was something his mate made up (what with the wild imagination he has) but it turns out to be a real treat that people eat.
“Like salted caramel, but freakier,” the girl at the counter tells him with a knowing smile.
Freakier. Right.
Keng thanks his lucky stars that Namping hasn’t changed his mind yet. The ice cream hunt wasn’t in vain.
The omega actually moans in pleasure when he takes the first bite.
Keng feels kinda crazy for being a little jealous (of the freaky ice cream, of all things!) but then again, it’s not like he gets plenty of opportunities to make Ping moan these days.
And he’s a grown, obsessed man with needs. Scarce are the moments when Ping deems him worthy of affection though, blaming Keng for his morning sickness, the cramps, making him fat and ugly, and, most importantly, the infamous noodle disaster. And the list goes on.
As far as Ping is concerned, everything is Keng’s fault. Keng doesn’t deny it because firstly, he’s hopelessly in love with Ping, secondly, he’s really down bad, and thirdly, he does not particularly fancy sleeping on the floor tonight, thank you very much.
“How was your ride?” Namping asks when he sets aside the empty cup, licking his lips distractingly.
“Fine,” Keng replies eagerly, genuinely pleased with the way it turned out. He opens his mouth to brag about not getting caught by fans when Namping squints his eyes in suspicion, following up with another question.
“Why do you look so happy? Thrilled at getting away from me for a little while? Have you met someone new to go on a dinner date with?”
Keng sputters, almost choking on his own sensible chocolate chip ice cream.
“Ping!” He protests, baffled at the suggestion.
“What?” Namping presses on. “There’s plenty of dainty omegas out there who’d die to have a chance with you.”
Keng sets his own cup aside, sighing as he rubs his temple.
He knows that Namping doesn’t mean it, but it still hurts to hear him say it like that.
“Look. I know that pregnancy’s hard on you and you’re very tired and overwhelmed, both emotionally and physically, but do you really think I’d do this to you? You really think I’m that kind of person?”
Keng doesn’t mean it to come out this intense, but the line between teasing and hurting has become kinda blurry, and he doesn’t want to stay silent and let it fester.
Namping holds his gaze, a conflicted expression crossing his face.
His scent shifts, still distressed but with a different undertone entirely.
“Sorry,” he says eventually, tone soft and candid. “I went too far. I’m going insane having all those feelings all the time.”
“It’s alright.” Keng reassures him quickly, but Ping shakes his head.
“No, it’s not. I chose to have a baby with you in the first place because you’ve always made me feel like you’d love me no matter what, even if I’m fat, pimpled, cranky and wearing a sack.”
Keng bites back a smile.
“To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if you looked hot in a sack. If anyone can pull that off, it’d be you.”
Namping smiles, swatting him on the arm lightly.
“Stop it.”
Keng catches the assaulting hand, taking both of Namping’s hands into his as he continues seriously, “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, little one. You are so pretty and glowing I can hardly control myself. I haven’t looked at any other omega since I met you. If anything, since you got pregnant my obsession with you only grown worse.”
“You’ve become such a sweet talker, Keng.” Namping teases, but his eyes are shiny and he smells fond and happy, looking just a little flustered as the blush spreads over his face.
Keng cups his flushed, smooth cheek in his palm, dipping down to kiss him.
One thing Keng loves about pregnancy quirks is that Ping gets wound up from kissing faster than he ever had before. And he gets needy. They’ll be making out for hours if they got time on their hands, and if not, Ping would complain profusely.
His mate loves to make a show of rejecting and scolding him, but when he finally gives in, he’s greedier than Keng himself.
Keng loves that about him.
“Babe,” Ping sighs into his mouth, climbing into his lap. “Hold me.”
Keng is happy to oblige, the nickname sending a spike of pleasure through his body; he’s eager to get his hands on his beautiful Namping.
“Alpha,” Ping breathes into his ear as soon as their lips part, and Keng shivers. “You take care of me so well.”
Ping doesn’t address him properly that often, first Keng thought it was because he didn’t like it but now he suspects that the other just thinks that saying it too many times would make the word lose its meaning. So he’d use it once in a while. To keep it special.
You take care of me so well.
Alphas purring is a rare thing, but Keng can swear he feels like it as soon as he hears those words.
“Yeah?”
Maybe he wants to hear him say it again, who in their right mind would blame him?
“Yeah,” Ping confirms, lips brushing his ear. “Thank you for the freaky ice cream.”
Keng smiles, his heart leaping up at the praise.
“Always.”
“Keng?” He calls out in a small voice.
“Mmm?”
“Do you really like me like this?” Ping bites his lips, dropping his gaze as if he’s embarrased about the question or worrying too much about the answer.
“Swollen with my child?” Keng asks, half to antagonize him and half because he loves to say it out loud. Namping blushes harder.
“Don’t say it like that!”
Keng smirks slowly, glowing like he’s won the lottery.
“But it’s true. And I can’t believe you’re asking me that. Can’t you tell?” He grinds against him for emphasis. “I’m crazy about you, Pung. Even more now, if that’s even possible.”
He meets Ping’s gaze with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Do you want me to prove it?”
“Oh? How?” Namping wonders, playing innocent despite the fact that Keng can smell him.
“It’s time for me to fill up pung,” he teases as he hooks his fingers under the neckline of Ping’s shirt, and pulls.
He tunes out the imminent scolding as buttons go flying, the ruined shirt coming apart as he dips down to taste him.
His chest has filled up, which makes Keng positively feral.
He can’t believe Namping would doubt his attraction to him, when he’s clearly out of his mind with lust just thinking about his swollen, leaking tits.
“Someone–ahhh–is confusing themselves with the baby,” Ping pants out as Keng sucks on the pink, sensitive nub, cupping and squeezing his other breast.
He attempts at teasing, but sounds way too breathy and pent up for Keng to buy it.
Namping barely has milk yet, but a few occasional drops are enough to make Keng see stars when he tastes it on his mouth. Not to mention how sensitive his mate has become. It doesn’t take long before a whimper rips out of his throat at every flick of Keng’s tongue.
“F-fuck… Keng…”
“Lift up for me.” Keng pulls down his pants and underwear when Namping complies, tracing open-mouthed kisses down his chest.
The smell of his slick is heavy in the air, and Keng is at the last thread of his resolve; he can feel it stretching thin as he leaves kisses on every inch of Namping’s skin, slowly making his way down his sternum.
His hands ghost over Ping’s sides as he slides down the bed, fingers digging into his thighs as he spreads them.
He presses his face to the underside of his thigh, inhaling the rich, divine scent of his arousal.
“Do you want me to kiss you down there?” He rasps, eyes flicking up to meet Ping’s gaze. “If you want to, just ask.”
“Please.”
No ‘Stop it!’ or ‘It’s so dirty, Keng!’ and Keng is ecstatic about it, but seeing Ping’s flushed, gorgeous face is too much for him to handle, so he surges up to kiss him on the mouth first.
He slips a finger inside him in time with that, and swallows his thready moan as their lips crash together.
Fuck, he can’t believe he lasted so long without kissing Ping.
He adds another finger as he licks into his mouth, exploring its familiar contours greedily as he pumps his fingers inside him.
“You’re so wet, Pung,” he breathes into his ear when their lips part, nipping at his earlobe. “You missed me, right?”
“Shut up,” Ping blurts, but his smell is getting thicker with arousal, so Keng keeps going.
“Don’t push me away anymore. Your body needs it,” he kisses the corner of his mouth before Namping can deny it, brushing his thumb over his lip. Namping just lets him, any protest dying on his lips as Keng settles in between his thighs again, putting his mouth where his fingers are.
Namping moans obscenely, his back arching off the bed and face scrunching up in pleasure as Keng steals a glance at him before he dives back in. His nails rake over the sensitive skin of his mate’s thighs and he laves his tongue over his hole, kissing it sloppily. He forgoes any clever technique for the sake of lapping up his omega’s slick, going mindless over the taste. He enters him with the tip of his tongue, feeding off the choked-out gasps from above, grinning smugly as Namping grasps at his hair, pushing Keng’s face closer.
“Ahhh–oh fuck… K-Keng…” He gasps out, delightfully loud and getting even louder when Keng crooks his fingers inside him.
Keng looks up again to watch Ping’s face twist in pleasure as his mouth falls open on a silent cry.
“Alpha…” he slurs on his next breath as Keng keeps rubbing on his sweet spot. “Fuck me. Please.”
Keng sucks in a sharp breath. His neglected cock, hard and throbbing in tight confines of his pants, twitches at the words. Calling him alpha… Begging him to–
Keng knows how to be selfless, he does, and his mind was set on making Ping come at least once before he even considers his own needs, but that plea… is impossible to resist.
“Keng…” Namping coaxes, wiping off the remnants of his sanity. “Come on. Please. I need you.”
Keng’s mind scrambles to remember which position is safe to have him in.
He can’t hurt his mate.
He can’t hurt the baby.
Which means, no getting on top of him. No pushing his knees up and into his chest. No deep penetration.
Fuck. The last one is possibly more challenging than hunting for Ping’s midnight cravings.
Keng carefully pulls his fingers out.
Namping whines and, oblivious to his inner struggle, reaches for his belt buckle like a man on a mission—that mission being to get rid of Keng’s pants as fast as possible.
Keng’s all too happy to oblige, helping him along as Namping peels his T-shirt off him next.
Watching him like that, bare and undressing him eagerly, Keng almost forgets to be reasonable–hell, he almost forgets his own name, nevermind that he’s the one who knocked him up. He’s done this before. But every time sex with Namping is–
“Lie back,” he instructs in a gruff voice, wedging a pillow under his back. “Legs on my shoulders.”
He tugs Namping closer, squeezing his hips a tad too tight as he puts them in place, resting against his chest.
Namping looks a little intrigued and a lot aroused, glancing up at him with those big dark eyes as Keng kneels between his legs. There’s nowhere he’d rather be.
“Let me take care of you,” he whispers hoarsely, hands brushing up and down Ping’s perfect thighs before he gets a solid grip and presses in.
“Ohhh–more…” Ping moans, his hands fisting the sheets as Keng sinks deeper inside him, and oh, it’d be so easy to push himself in to the hilt and fuck him hard, but he can’t. He’d read that it would probably hurt him, and–
“Keng,” Namping calls, sounding fondly exasperated and horny. “It’s okay. I won’t break, I promise.” He smirks up at him, and adds, “Fill me up, alpha.”
Keng squeezes his eyes shut, the vision of Namping’s soft, flawless body under him and his gentle coaxing, the feeling of his tight, wet heat fluttering around his cock, it’s all too much.
“Keng,” Ping urges again, his name really just a keening sound spilling out of his mouth, and Keng snaps his hips forward, his mate’s high-pitched cry spurring him on as he does it again, and again, losing himself in the feeling.
He’s torn between watching Namping’s face and watching himself disappear inside his body, his hole stretching around him as he takes him in.
“You’re so tight, little one,” he blurts out. “Feels so good inside you.”
“Good,” Namping breathes back, stealing glances to where his body’s swallowing Keng’s length. “As long as I’m still tight and pretty, you won’t think of other…” He’s cut off by a hard, pointed thrust, gasping as a jolt of pleasure zings through him.
“Stop it already,” Keng grits out, his words punctuated by another thrust. He knows he’s hit just the right spot, if Ping’s choked out sob is anything to go by. “You’re the, hottest, prettiest, pickiest, insufferable little tyrant, and I’m so obsessed with you, I wouldn’t notice anyone else even if they paraded naked around the room.”
Namping clamps around him and Keng’s lips curl into a smug smile.
“What was it?” He grunts as pleasure ripples through him at the sensation. “Me being obsessed with you or choosing you even in a room of naked omegas?”
Ping rolls his eyes, sassy as ever.
“Shut up and fuck me, Harit.”
Keng grins, gripping his thigh tighter before he pushes into him again.
“Ter’s wish is my command.”
They don’t talk anymore after this; as much as he adores this, the bickering and dirty talk in equal measure that they manage to pull off, Keng wants to make his cheeky little brat see stars tonight, so he doubles his efforts, narrowing in on his prostate and his mate’s little ahs and the filthy sounds of smacking flesh fill the room.
Keng feels his own orgasm approaching, pressure building up steadily as his mate’s body’s gripping him so tight, but he wants to take care of Ping first. He’s close, little whimpers tumbling out of his red, bitten mouth with Keng’s every move, his chest heaving, littered with love bites and coated in a sheen of sweat. He looks obscene, and Keng has half a mind to pull out and finish on him, just imagining how ruined he’d look almost gets him there, but Ping shakes his head, as if reading his mind.
“Please, inside,” he pants out, and it makes Keng’s mind go blank, his pace stuttering.
No knotting, he reminds himself through the haze of mind-numbing pleasure consuming him whole.
He curls his hand around Namping, barely touching him before he comes, with a broken moan and Keng’s name on his lips.
Keng keeps fucking him through the aftershocks, the sensation of his body spasming and trembling around him too much to handle, and he follows shortly after, sinking his teeth into Ping’s thigh as he spills himself inside him.
“Fucking hell,” Namping summarizes as Keng pulls out and carefully lowers himself beside him, suppressing the initial urge so slump against him, covering his body with his own.
“You bit me.” He doesn’t even attempt at reproaching tone, but Keng decides to stick with the familiar routine and apologize, just to be safe.
“I got excited. Sorry.”
Ping giggles, smiling contently as he snuggles up to him, laying his head on Keng’s chest. “It’s okay. I liked it.”
After a pause, he adds, “Just don’t start howling at me next time.”
Keng laughs. “I make no promises.”
“You don’t have to indulge me all the time, you know that, right?” Namping says softly after a beat of comfortable silence between them. “Pregnant or not, don’t let me nag you too much.”
“I want to,” Keng insists, quiet but firm. “Indulge you.”
He feels it reverberate in his chest when the omega starts purring, a warm, soothing sound that makes Keng’s heart sing.
He cards his fingers through Ping’s hair, a habitual gesture that he draws out, stroking and petting him tenderly.
“I’m not a cat, Harit.”
“I’m not a cat, Harit,” he mocks and Namping swats him, dissolving into infectious laughter. Keng joins in, drinking in his every expression, all crescent eyes and wide, radiant smile.
“If only people knew how you treat your pregnant mate, they wouldn’t feel sorry for you.”
“No one feels sorry for me. I go to sleep with ter by my side.”
Namping huffs. “Knock it off khrub!”
Keng leans into his space, all wiggling eyebrows and a salacious smile.
“How about a kiss for your JengJeng?”
Ping starts giggling again, planting a hand on his chest to push him away.
“Back off khrub! I'm in the family way! Urrgh…”