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The car ride back was quieter than usual. Not uncomfortable at all but softer, like something fragile had settled between them and neither of them wanted to disturb it. Rome was the one driving today. I don't feel like driving today, Mok had said. Rome found it unusual but of course everyone has days where they don't feel like driving so it was understandable.
They were coming back from dinner at Thee and Peach’s place, an invitation that hadn’t really been about food as much as it had been about time. Thee had insisted, Peach had made sure they stayed longer than planned, all of it circling around the same unspoken reason, Rome was leaving again. He always was. The kind of work he did, it never let him stay in one place for long, never let him belong fully to moments like that.
And now, with the warmth of the evening already fading behind them, it settled back in, the distance, the inevitability of him slipping away again, like he always did.
Mok was leaning his head against the glass, eyes half lidded, fingers loosely curled in his lap.
Rome watched him. It probably won't be obvious to anyone else. But Rome noticed everything, how Mok’s shoulders weren’t as relaxed as they usually were after meeting his bestfriend, how his laughter earlier had been just a second too delayed, how his hand had lingered a little longer than necessary everytime it touched throughout the dinner.
Rome’s thumb brushed lightly over Mok’s knuckles.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured.
Mok huffed a small breath, not quite a laugh. “You’ve said that three times already.”
“And you’ve dodged it three times already.”
That earned him a quick glance. Rome caught it, held onto it.
“I told you,” Mok said, softer now, “I’m just tired.”
Rome didn’t answer immediately. He shifted their hands so their fingers laced together properly this time, his grip firm but gentle, like he was anchoring him.
“You’re a bad liar when you’re sad,” he said quietly.
Mok’s jaw tightened. There it was. The thing they hadn’t said all day. The thing that had been sitting between them since the moment they realized how long this time apart would actually be.
“I’m not sad, just tired,” Mok muttered, though his voice betrayed him a little.
Rome tilted his head, studying him, not pushing but not letting go either.
“You almost kissed me in front of P’Kian,” he said instead, a faint smile tugging at his lips, trying to lighten it just enough. “Didn’t seem like you were ‘tired.’”
That worked… barely. Mok let out a quiet, embarrassed laugh, dropping his gaze. “I didn't even realize you were so close.”
“Sure.”
Mok’s lips twitched. For a moment, the heaviness eased. But then it came back heavier.
“…It’s just longer this time,” Mok admitted finally, voice almost a whisper.
There it was. The reason of his sadness. Rome’s expression softened instantly. He didn’t say anything right away. Just squeezed his hand once, thumb brushing over his skin in a comforting way. “I know.”
Mok swallowed, blinking a little too fast. “We’ve done this before, I know that. It’s not new. It’s just…”
“Longer,” Rome finished gently.
Mok nodded.
Silence stretched between them for a moment and then Rome leaned closer, just enough for their shoulders to touch.
“We’ll still call,” he said quietly. “Every day. More than once if you want.”
Mok let out a small breath. “We already do that.”
“Then we’ll do it more.” That made Mok smile properly this time.
It took them about 30 minutes to reach their house. They both directly walked towards the room. The door clicked shut behind them, the quiet of the room settling in almost instantly, too still after the noise.
Rome moved first. He shrugged off his jacket and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching.
Mok didn’t follow. He drifted toward the mirror instead, almost absentmindedly, like his body had decided before he did. He stood there for a moment, just… looking. At his reflection, at the smudged edges of his makeup, at the faint exhaustion under his eyes, but it wasn’t really that.
Rome could tell.
Their eyes met through the mirror. And there it was again, that quiet, aching sadness Mok had been trying so hard to hide all day.
Rome didn’t call it out. He just straightened slightly and said, “Come here.”
Mok didn’t argue. He turned, slow, like something in him had finally given in, and walked over.
The second he was close enough, Rome reached out and pulled him in, sudden enough to draw a small, startled sound out of Mok.
“Rome…”
But the protest didn’t go anywhere because he was already being guided down, settling onto Rome’s lap, one arm instinctively coming up to steady himself against his shoulder.
Rome’s arms wrapped around him immediately, like he wasn’t going to let him drift away again.
Neither of them spoke for a second. Mok’s breath was a little uneven, his body tense in that subtle way Rome hated, like he was holding everything in too tightly.
Rome’s hand slid up his back slowly. “Stop thinking so much,” he murmured, voice low near his ear.
Mok let out a quiet huff. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
There was no accusation in it, just certainty.
Mok’s fingers curled slightly into the fabric of Rome’s shirt. “…It’s stupid,” he muttered.
Rome pulled back just enough to look at him, one hand coming up to tilt his chin so he couldn’t hide.
“It’s not,” he said simply.
Mok’s eyes flickered, that same sadness surfacing again, softer now that it wasn’t being pushed down as hard.
“It just sucks,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “We just got used to this again and now…”
“I know.”
Rome didn’t let him finish. His thumb brushed lightly along Mok’s jaw, slowly, like he was memorizing him.
“We’ll make it work,” he said quietly. “Like we always do.”
Mok shook his head a little, frustration slipping through. “I don’t want to get used to being away from you.”
And well, that landed.
Rome’s expression softened. “…You don't have to,” he said after a moment. “You know I'll come back soon.”
Mok’s lips pressed together, eyes dropping. That was the thing about Mok, he was clingy in ways he’d never admit out loud. He needed reassurance more than he let on, craved touch like it was something essential. He wanted to be held, to be loved, to be chosen over and over again. He worried too much, felt too deeply, and got annoyed over the smallest things.
But that side of him wasn’t for the world.
It was only for Rome.
Only he got to see it because only he understood.
Rome shifted slightly, tightening his hold around him, one arm secure around his waist while the other came up to cradle the back of his neck, guiding him closer.
“You think I’m okay with it?” he murmured.
Mok glanced up.
Rome let out a quiet breath, resting his forehead briefly against Mok’s. “I hate it,” he admitted softly. “Every time.”
Mok’s shoulders dropped just a little, the tension easing.
“You don't look sad,” he said.
Rome huffed faintly. “Someone has to be the stable one.”
That earned him the smallest hint of a smile. “Who said it’s you?”
Rome’s lips twitched. “You’re sitting on my lap right now because you looked like you were about to spiral.”
“I was not spiraling.”
“It wasn’t me staring at myself in the mirror about to pick a fight with my own reflection.”
Mok let out a soft, reluctant laugh, his forehead dropping against Rome’s shoulder.
Rome’s hand moved up into his hair, gentle, steady strokes. “You don’t have to hold it in with me,” he said quietly.
Mok didn’t respond right away. But he didn’t pull away either. Instead, he shifted closer, arms sliding around Rome’s neck, holding on just a little tighter than usual.
“…Stay like this for a bit,” he murmured.
Rome tightened his hold without hesitation. “Yeah,” he said softly. “As long as you want.”
Mok stayed there for a while, tucked into Rome like he belonged there.
Because he did. Rome was the one he belonged to. And Rome was the one who belonged to him.
The room was quiet except for their breathing. Rome’s hand kept moving through Mok’s hair, like he was giving him time instead of asking for it.
Mok shifted slightly after a while, just enough to pull back. His hands were still looped around Rome’s neck, fingers brushing lightly against his skin, absentminded, like he needed to feel him there. His eyes searched Rome’s face for a second, something uncertain but soft in his eyes.
Rome didn’t rush him. He just looked back. “Better?” he asked quietly.
Mok nodded “…A little.”
His gaze dropped to Rome’s lips for a moment, very quick, but not quick enough to miss.
Rome noticed.
“Hey,” he murmured, thumb brushing lightly along Mok’s jaw again, guiding his attention back up. “Don’t disappear on me now.”
“I’m not,” Mok whispered.
But his voice had changed.
Rome’s hand stilled for a second at the back of his neck, his eyes flickering between Mok’s eyes and his lips now, mirroring him without even realizing.
“…What?” Mok asked quietly, a hint of nervousness slipping through.
Rome didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in just a fraction, close enough that their breaths mixed, close enough that Mok could feel it.
“Can I?” he asked, voice low.
Mok didn’t hesitate this time. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Anytime.”
That was all Rome needed. He closed the distance slowly. Their lips met gently at first. It was soft, more comforting than hungry.
Mok melted into it almost immediately. His grip tightened slightly at the back of Rome’s neck as he leaned in closer, deepening the kiss just a little, like he needed more than just the surface of it.
Rome responded without thinking, one hand steady at his waist, the other still cradling his neck, holding him there.
Mok pulled back just barely, their foreheads brushing, his breathing a little uneven now.
“Don’t go easy on me just because I’m sad,” he teased.
Rome huffed a quiet breath, a faint smile touching his lips. “You think I'll go easy?”
Mok didn’t get to respond.
Rome leaned in again, kissing him a little deeper this time. His hand at Mok’s waist tightened slightly, drawing him closer, closing whatever small space was left between them.
Mok exhaled softly against his lips, relaxing into him completely now, letting himself be held.
One of Rome’s hands slipped down just enough to rest at his lower back, while Mok’s fingers traced lightly along his jaw.
They moved together slowly, everything quiet except for the soft sounds of them breathing each other in.
Rome’s hands were no longer just comforting, they were possessive, sliding under Mok’s shirt to map out the familiar lines of his ribs.
Eventually, he broke the kiss to pull the shirt over Mok’s head and tossed it aside, his eyes dark as they settled on Mok’s bare chest.
Rome leaned in, his mouth finding the sensitive spot where Mok’s neck met his shoulder. He bit down softly, a sharp nip that made Mok’s toes curl, before soothing the spot with his tongue.
“Rome,” Mok gasped, his fingers tangling in Rome’s hair, pulling him closer even as the intensity made him lightheaded.
Rome moved lower. He had always been fixated on Mok’s nipples, so as always, he took his time. He teased one with his tongue, swirling around the area until it was hard and sensitive, then took the entire bud into his mouth. He sucked firmly, in a rhythmic, drawing sensation that sent a direct spark to Mok’s cock.
A high, broken moan escaped Mok as Rome’s thumb did the same motion on his other side, pinching and rolling the bud until Mok was writhing beneath him.
Rome held him tighter.
And then without thinking it, Mok started moving in a slow rhythm that had Rome’s breath hitching. Their mouths locked in a deep kiss.
Rome’s hands gripped Mok’s waist, his fingers digging in to pull him down harder. “Move fast,” Rome managed to ground out against Mok’s lips, his voice strained and low. “Don't… Don't stop.”
Mok let out a sharp moan, his forehead dropping against Rome’s for a split second before he dove back in. “Fuck… fuck,” he whispered, his hips shifting to find a better angle to quicken the pace.
He was so hard. And so was Rome. Mok couldn't take the buildup anymore. He needed to feel Rome’s skin against his. He reached for Rome’s pants, got up a little and pulled them down, his movements frantic but determined.
Once Rome was stripped, Mok didn't wait. He slid off the bed and knelt between Rome’s thighs, looking up at him with those wide, aching eyes.
He took Rome into his mouth with a deep, hungry swallow. His tongue swirling around the head, licking away the beads of precum before taking the full length into his throat. He started bobbing his head up and down.
At a particular hard suck, Rome’s breath hitched, his hands falling to Mok’s hair, his hips jerking upward in an involuntary search for more.
“Mok... fuck,” Rome groaned, his head falling back, “Wait.”
Rome pulled Mok back up onto the bed, and laid him down on a mattress, his movements more urgent now. He didn't wait, he quickly got Mok out of his pants and reached for the lube on the nightstand, and coated his fingers with it.
He was gentle but firm, sliding one finger, then two. He worked them in a scissoring motion, stretching Mok out, all while kissing him, trying to keep Mok on the edge of a scream.
When Mok was open and slick, Rome positioned himself. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to Mok’s sweat dampened forehead. “You’re doing so well for me,” a small, breathless smile tugging at the corner of Rome’s mouth. “You’re so beautiful. You're my baby. Nobody makes me as happy as you do.”
Mok’s fingers dug into Rome’s shoulders, it was all too much for him.
Rome guided his cock to Mok’s hole and then pushed in, a slow movement that filled Mok to the point of bursting. Mok’s eyes blew wide, his breath hitched as his muscles clamped down hard around the intrusion.
“Look at me,” Rome commanded softly.
Mok met his gaze, his face flushed and beautiful with exertion. Rome began to thrust, deep, heavy strokes that bottomed out with a wet slap of skin against skin. He hit Mok’s prostate with every upward tilt of his hips, sending waves of pleasure through Mok.
Mok’s legs wrapped around Rome’s waist, pulling him in deeper, his heels digging into Rome’s lower back. “Harder... Please,” Mok sobbed out.
Rome increased the pace, his thrusts becoming faster and more frantic as the friction built. He reached down, his hand wrapping around Mok’s length, stroking him in time with his own thrusts. The dual sensation was too much.
“I don't like to sleep without you,” Mok sobbed, the words tumbling out against Rome’s shoulder. He was shaking, his fingers digging into Rome’s back as if he were trying to anchor himself to the earth. “I feel so alone. It’s too quiet. It’s too loud and too quiet at the same time.”
A sharp, wet hiccup caught in his throat, and a tear escaped, trailing down his temple into his hair. “I’m so tired of missing you.”
The dual sensation, Rome’s hand tight and steady around his cock and the pace of their bodies seemed to crack Mok wide open. He was moaning and blabbering, his voice thin and wrecked.
“Please,” Mok gasped, his hips surging up in a desperate, uncoordinated plea for closeness.
Rome held him through it, his hands gently soothing Mok’s thighs, waist, arm. Everywhere he could reach.
“I’ve got you. I’m right here,” Rome grunted, his voice dropping an octave as he felt the first tremor of Mok’s climax.
Mok shattered completely, his body stiffening as he came hard against his own stomach and Rome’s hand.
The intense pulsing of Mok’s orgasm was the final trigger for Rome. He buried his face in Mok’s neck, let out a moan, and came, pumping everything he had deep into Mok.
They stayed locked together for a long time, the only sound was the ragged synchronization of their breathing. Rome eventually pulled out, the wet sound of his cock echoing in the quiet room. He didn't move far, pulling Mok into his side and tucking his head under his chin.
“I love you so much,” Rome whispered into the crown of Mok's hair, “I’ll always come back to you.”
•
The days had been going well. They video called every day. Talked every day. It was not good, but it was bearable. Mok had his own work too. Days were passing by, but eventually, the rhythm started to stutter. Signs started to show.
It began as a subtle, creeping exhaustion that sleep couldn’t touch. Mok found himself staring at his laptop, the words blurring as a heavy, bone deep lethargy settled over him by mid afternoon. He blamed the workload, the late nights, the stress of being apart. But then his body started to betray him in smaller, more confusing ways. The smell of his favorite morning breakfast, which usually brought him comfort, suddenly turned his stomach into a tight knot.
During one video call, Rome noticed the way Mok’s hand reflexively went to his mouth, his face paling as he tried to suppress a sudden wave of nausea.
“You're working too hard,” Rome had said, his voice laced with that familiar, protective worry. “You look so tired.”
Mok had forced a smile, leaning back against the pillows. “Just a bit of a bug, I think. Nothing to worry about.”
But the “bug” didn't leave. It stayed, manifesting as a strange, heavy warmth in his lower abdomen and a heightened sensitivity to everything…sounds, smells, even the texture of his own clothes.
And then one day, he found himself standing in front of the mirror, tracing the curve of his waist, searching for a change that hadn't quite materialized yet, but one he could feel hum beneath his skin.
So he built the courage to do something, he wished he didn't have to do alone.
Mok sat on the edge of the tub, the small plastic stick resting on the counter like a live wire. He hadn't told anyone…not even Rome. He couldn't, not until the suspicion in his mind was either silenced or confirmed.
He watched the clock on his phone, the seconds ticking by with agonizing slowness. His heart hammered against his ribs, the sound of it seeming to echo in the small space.
When the timer finally buzzed, he didn't move for a long moment. He stared at the back of the plastic stick, his mind spiraling into a dark, quiet corner he hadn’t dared to visit until this very second.
A cold thought flickered through his head,
If this is real, I could just make this go away.
He imagined a world where he just tossed the test into the trash and handled the “problem” quietly. Rome wouldn't have to know.
Because Rome was...well, he was Rome. If Mok told him, Rome would drop everything. He would sacrifice his comfort, and his own future just to support whatever Mok decided. He would be perfect, and that was exactly what terrified Mok.
He didn't want to be the reason Rome’s life became smaller or harder. He didn't want to see Rome’s ambitions get sidelined for a “we” that neither of them had planned for yet.
For a moment, the idea of a secret termination felt like a mercy, a way to protect them both from a responsibility that felt too heavy to carry.
But as soon as the thought took shape, a wave of nauseating guilt followed it.
Rome might do anything Mok wanted, but he also loved Mok with a transparency that demanded the same in return. If he ever found out, if he realized Mok had carried this weight and discarded it without a word, he would be devastated. It wasn't just the loss, it was the silence that would break him. Rome might never forgive that kind of exclusion, and Mok wasn't sure he could live with the ghost of that secret sitting between them in future.
Mok squeezed his eyes shut, and tears fell out of them. I wish you were here. He took a deep breath and forced all the dark thoughts back into the shadows. He couldn't make a decision based on fear or a misguided attempt at “protection.” He owed Rome, and himself, the truth of whatever was on that counter.
His breath hitched, as he finally reached out. His fingers trembled, brushing against the cool plastic, before he slowly, deliberately flipped the test over to face the light.
There, in the tiny window, were two distinct, unmistakable lines.
The air seemed to leave the room. Mok’s knees felt weak as he sank further onto the tiles, his hand instinctively dropping to his stomach.
The “bearable” distance between him and Rome suddenly felt like a vast, terrifying ocean, and the secret he was holding felt heavier than anything he had ever carried.
He was pregnant.
He stared at the test until the lines blurred through the sudden, hot sting of tears. He needed to call Rome, but for the first time, he didn't know how to start the conversation.
So he did what he shouldn't have, because the weight of it felt too heavy to share through a screen.
He didn't let Rome know.
He kept up the routine, the smiles, and the daily video calls, masking his pregnancy as “exhaustion” and the fluttering in his stomach as “nerves.” I’ll tell him when he’s finally here, Mok promised himself, when I can see his face.
•
The countdown was finally hitting zero. Rome’s flight was touching down at 7pm. For Rome, the excitement was off the charts, every mile closer to home felt peaceful.
But for Mok, standing in their quiet apartment, the anticipation was laced with fear.
The sound of the key turning in the lock made Mok’s heart hammer against his ribs. The door swung open, and there he was…Rome, looking tired from the travel but absolutely radiant the moment his eyes landed on Mok.
“I’m home,” Rome breathed, dropping his bags where he stood.
Mok didn't even speak, he just ran. He threw himself into Rome’s arms, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Rome caught him easily, lifting him slightly off the floor and squeezing so tight it felt like he was trying to merge their souls back together.
“I missed you so much,” Rome breathed into Mok's hair, his voice thick with relief. “God, you have no idea.”
“I missed you too,” Mok whispered, his voice trembling more than he intended.
Rome pulled back just enough to cup Mok’s face, his thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. He looked at Mok with such raw hunger and adoration that Mok felt a lump form in his throat. When Rome leaned in, the kiss was desperate and deep. The kiss felt like longing finally being satisfied.
In a haze of heat and adrenaline, Rome began backing Mok towards the bedroom, his hands roaming over Mok’s back, pulling him closer. He missed Mok in every way.
They hit the edge of the mattress, and Rome, overwhelmed by the need to finally have Mok under him, started to push him back firmly…almost harshly…onto the bed.
“Wait!”
The word jumped out of Mok’s throat before he could think. His hands flew up, bracing against Rome’s chest, pushing back with a sudden, instinctive strength.
Rome froze, his eyes clouded with confusion. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no,” Mok panted, his face flushing. He sat up slightly, his hand reflexively dropping to guard his lower stomach. “Just... go slow. I don't know.”
Rome stared at him, his brow furrowing as he watched Mok’s hand. The lust in his eyes was replaced by a sharp and observant stillness. He looked at the way Mok was sitting, the protective curve of his shoulders, and the way his eyes refused to meet Rome’s.
“Slow?” Rome repeated softly. His gaze dropping to Mok’s midsection and then back up to his pale face. “What’s wrong?”
Mok swallowed hard, his breath hitching. “I’m just tired.”
“You’re not just tired.” Rome’s voice was a whisper now, a realization dawning on him that made the air in the room feel electric. He reached out, his hand hovering inches away from Mok’s stomach. “Look at me.”
Mok looked up, and the sheer vulnerability in his eyes was the final piece of the puzzle. Rome’s hand finally landed, light as a feather, over Mok’s fingers.
“Is there... is there a reason I need to go slow?” Rome asked, his voice cracking.
He didn't say it directly, but the hope and terror in his eyes said everything. Mok stared at him for a heartbeat and suddenly…
A single sob escaped him, and then the floodgates opened. Mok collapsed forward into Rome’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably, his hands clutching at Rome’s shirt.
“I’m sorry,” Mok wailed into his chest. “I’m so sorry, I wanted to tell you, I just didn't know how…”
Rome didn't let him finish. He wrapped his arms around Mok, shaking as he pulled him into his lap. He kissed Mok’s neck, his own eyes filling with tears. “Don't be sorry. Oh god... don't be sorry.”
His mind suddenly reminded him of a conversation they had months ago.
They had been tangled in the sheets, breathless and glowing in the aftermath of a particularly desperate night. Rome had been tracing the line of Mok’s hip, his gaze falling to the slight, soft curve of his hips. He had chuckled softly, a low sound, and said, “You know, you’d look beautiful pregnant. I can almost see it.”
Mok had frozen then, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp whistle. The comment had been lighthearted, a passing thought, but it had sparked a long, quiet conversation that lasted until dawn. It hadn't just resulted in very intense sex where Rome hadn't stopped unless Mok was genuinely overstimulated but they had also talked about the “what ifs,” the names they liked, and the fear of bringing a life into their chaotic world. Rome had promised then, with a seriousness, that if it ever happened, he would never let Mok carry the weight alone.
Back in the present, that promise felt like a physical weight. Rome’s eyes searched Mok’s, looking for the joy he felt rising in his own chest, but all he saw was Mok’s crumbling resolve.
Mok collapsed forward, his forehead thumping against Rome’s shoulder. The tears kept falling, tears of relief, yes, but also the tears because he was terrified, and exhausted. He clutched at the back of Rome’s shirt, his fingers digging into the fabric as if he were afraid Rome would pull away now that the fantasy had become a reality.
Rome didn't pull away. He buried his face in Mok’s neck, his own tears dampening Mok’s skin. He shifted, pulling Mok fully into his lap and wrapping his arms around him like a shield. He tucked Mok’s head under his chin, rocking him slightly until the jagged sobs began to level out into shaky breaths.
After a moment, Rome nuzzled into the crook of his neck, his voice shaking. “How many months?”
Mok cried harder at this. “I don't know. I don't know anything. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, hey,” Rome murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble against Mok’s temple. “Look at me. Breathe.”
Mok pulled back just an inch, his eyes red rimmed and his breath still hitching. “I’m just so nervous. I’ve been sitting here for weeks alone with this and I didn't know what you’d say, or if we were ready, and I…”
Rome let out a small, breathless laugh, not out of mockery, but out of sheer, overwhelmed affection. He reached up, using his thumbs to wipe the damp tracks from Mok’s cheeks.
“Silly,” Rome said softly, a tender smile tugging at his lips. “Stop crying. You’re so brave for handling all of this by yourself while I was gone. I’m the one who should be apologizing for not being here.” He squeezed Mok’s waist gently, his gaze dropping to Mok’s stomach with a look of pure wonder. “We’ll handle everything. Together. You aren't alone anymore.”
Mok leaned his forehead against Rome’s, finally letting out a long, shaky exhale. The terror that had been a tight knot in his chest for weeks finally started to loosen.
“I missed you so much,” Mok whispered.
“Me too, so so much,” Rome replied, but then his expression shifted, a flicker of practical worry crossing his face. He pulled back slightly, his hands resting protectively on Mok’s hips.
“Wait-have you been feeling okay? Have you seen anyone? Did you consult a doctor yet?”
Mok looked down at his lap, slowly shaking his head. “No... I was too scared to go by myself. I just... I was waiting for you.”
Rome’s eyes widened, “No? Mok. No, we can't do that. You’ve been carrying our baby for how long without a check up? You need a doctor. We need to make sure you’re eating right, and that you’re okay, and…”
He trailed off, his mind clearly racing through a thousand medical checklists. He looked so genuinely panicked in a ‘new parent’ sort of way that Mok couldn't help but crack a small, watery smile.
“I’m fine. I’ve just been a little nauseous.”
“A little nauseous is still something!” Rome countered, his voice rising in that cute, worrisome way he got when he was stressed about Mok’s well being. “That’s it. First thing tomorrow morning, we’re visiting a doctor. You hear me?"
Mok nodded, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the pregnancy and everything to do with the man holding him. “I hear you.”
•
The days turned into weeks, and while the initial shock had melted into a shared, quiet excitement, the physical reality of the pregnancy began to weigh on Mok in ways he hadn't anticipated.
Rome was, as expected, nothing short of perfect, he attended every appointment, tracked every vitamin, and handled Mok with gentleness that made Mok feel like a piece of porcelain.
But for Mok, the mirror had become a source of quiet conflict.
He had always been insecure in his own body, never quite at ease with how it looked, too firm in places it shouldn’t be, not fitting the image he carried in his head. And now, this only made it worse, it deepened an insecurity that had never really left him.
The ease he had started feeling hadn’t come from within, but from Rome…because Rome had known how to make him feel good, how to quiet those thoughts, even if only for a while.
It wasn't just the growing curve of his stomach, it was the way his hips felt heavier, a dull ache settling into the bone as they began to widen a bit. His chest, too, felt foreign. It was sensitive and uncomfortably full, the skin stretching in a way that made him feel disconnected from the version of himself he had known for so many years.
One evening, after a long day of work, Mok stood in front of the full length mirror in their bedroom, wearing only boxers. He was turning slightly, tracing the new, soft weight on his hips with a frown, his thumb pressing into the skin as if he could push the changes back.
Rome caught him like that.
He had been coming in with a glass of water, but he stopped in the doorway, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of Mok’s slumped shoulders and the furrow in his brow.
“You’re overthinking again,” Rome said softly, setting the glass on the nightstand and walking over.
Mok didn't look up. “Everything feels... heavy. My hips ache, my chest feels like it doesn't belong to me. I just don't feel like me anymore.”
Rome stepped behind him, his warm hands settling firmly on Mok’s hips. He leaned down, resting his chin on Mok’s shoulder so their eyes met in the reflection.
“I know it's a lot,” Rome murmured, his voice low and steady. “I know your body is doing a million things at once right now. But from where I’m standing, you look perfect. You look heavenly.”
Mok let out a small, huffed breath. “You're lying.”
“I promise, I’m not,” Rome said with a tired smile, his hands sliding from Mok’s hips to the small of his back, rubbing the spot where the ache was sharpest. “But look at what you’re doing. You’re building a person. If your hips are wider, it’s because they’re making a room for us. If you feel heavy, it’s because you’re carrying our child.”
He moved one hand up, his palm resting flat against Mok’s chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. “It’s still you. Just... more of you.”
Mok leaned back into Rome’s solid warmth, his eyes closing as he finally allowed himself to relax against him.
The tension didn't vanish, but it shifted, turning from sharp anxiety into a dull, manageable thrum.
Rome didn’t pull away. Instead, he intensified the contact, his breath hot against the shell of Mok’s ear. “Let me show you,” he whispered, the vibration of his voice traveling straight down Mok's spine.
His hands, previously just supportive, began to move with a new, intentional rhythm. His thumbs digging into the dimples of his spine with a pressure that was both grounding and a little bit possessive.
Slowly, Rome began to trail kisses along the curve of Mok’s neck, lingering over the pulse point that was fluttering with a new energy.
“Every change,” Rome muttered against his skin, his hands sliding around to the front, splaying over the swell of Mok’s stomach, “is just another part of you for me to love.”
He turned Mok around in his arms, his gaze dark and liquid with an honesty that Mok couldn't look away from.
Rome gently nudged him towards the bed, his eyes never leaving Mok’s, his hands sliding down Mok’s hips to pull him closer.
He drifted lower, mouth tracing a slow, deliberate path down Mok’s abdomen, pressing soft kisses into the warm skin before letting his tongue follow. He nuzzled into the gentle softness of his stomach like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t take enough. His hands wandered as he went over ribs, along his sides, down to his hips, touching, squeezing, mapping him out with quiet hunger.
Mok flushed deep red, breath hitching as his hands came up to cover his stomach.
Rome stopped him.
“No,” he murmured, voice low but firm, easing them apart again. “Don’t hide from me.”
There was nothing rough in the way he touched him. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of Mok’s shorts, slow and careful. The fabric clung, damp and warm.
Mok turned his face aside, heat flooding him all over again.
Rome lowered himself between his legs, settling there like he belonged. His hands guided Mok open, unhurried but certain, until there was nowhere left to hide until Mok was laid bare, trembling, flushed, and achingly sensitive under his gaze.
Rome exhaled softly, something almost reverent in the sound, before leaning in.
The first touch of his tongue was slow and deliberate, dragging upward in a broad stroke that made Mok’s back arch sharply off the bed. A broken gasp left him, thighs jerking, unsure whether to pull away or press closer.
“W-wait…”
Rome’s arms held his hips, holding him steady.
“Can’t,” he breathed, already returning to him.
He took his time tasting, like he was savoring something he’d been denied for too long. Each movement drew more from Mok, small, helpless sounds, trembling breaths, fingers clutching tight into the sheets. The room filled with the quiet, wet rhythm of it, with the way Mok reacted to every careful motion.
When Rome’s mouth shifted, when the pressure changed just enough, Mok broke.
It hit him all at once, his body tightening, trembling, releasing in a rush that left him gasping, barely able to breathe through it.
Rome didn’t pull away. He stayed, easing him through it until the tremors faded and Mok sagged back against the pillows, spent.
“You did so good,” Rome murmured softly, lifting his head just long enough to brush his thumb gently over Mok’s skin. “Breathe for me.”
Mok dragged in uneven breaths, chest rising and falling as sensation slowly settled into something softer.
A slow rub of fingers to his hole jolted him.
“Breathe for me.” Rome pushed a finger into his hole, making him draw ragged breaths. “There you go, such a good boy.”
Rome followed the line of his body upward again, slower now, almost gentle. He paused at his chest, pressing a quiet kiss there, voice dropping.
“Beautiful.”
Mok’s head tipped back, a quiet, broken sound leaving him as Rome continued, the earlier intensity shifting into something deeper, something more consuming.
“Rome…” he whispered, voice unsteady.
Rome stilled for half a second at the sound of his name, something raw flickering across his expression.
“Say it again.”
“Rome…”
That was all it took.
Something in him snapped loose, restraint thinning as he shifted them, guiding Mok with steady hands until he was above him.
He grabbed the lube from under the pillow and used some of it on his cock.
“Ride me.”
Mok blinked down at him.“What?”
“Sit on my cock. Please.”
“I’m too heavy…you don't want to…”
“Bullshit.” Rome reached up, guiding Mok's hips down over his length.
“Come here,” he said, voice rougher now. “I want you closer.”
Mok hesitated, still dazed, still unsure. He was about to say something about being heavy when-
“Mok, you won’t,” Rome cut in. “Just trust me.”
The reassurance steadied him enough to move a little. Rome rubbed his cock to Mok's hole and started pushing in, slow at first, then a little more certain, guiding him, hands warm and insistent at his hips.
The stretch drew a sharp breath from Mok, his fingers tightening, scratching Rome's back.
“Fuck. Easy,” Rome murmured, though his own voice strained. “You’re okay.”
When Mok finally settled fully, both of them stilled for a moment, just breathing, feeling it.
Then Rome’s hands tightened.
“That’s it,” he rasped. “Move for me.”
Mok tried…slow, unsure at first, his body still sensitive, still shaky. The rhythm came unevenly, his movements hesitant, like he was holding back.
Rome noticed immediately.
“Why are you holding yourself like that?” he muttered, frustration edging into his tone…not anger, just intensity. “Sit properly.”
“I’m heavy right now,” Mok’s voice faltered. “I really don’t want to…”
Rome exhaled sharply, grip firming as he guided him down more fully.
“I’m not made of glass, you won't break me,” he said, quieter this time but no less certain. “Stop thinking about it. Just enjoy yourself.”
The shift changed everything.
Mok gasped, the sensation sharper, pulling something raw and unfiltered from him. His movements lost their careful restraint, turning instinctive and messy, driven by feeling rather than thought.
Rome met him there, pushing, his own control slipping as the rhythm built between them.
“Yeah,” he breathed, almost dazed. “Just like that. You look so good like this.”
The world narrowed to that movement, heat, the sound of uneven breathing and quiet, broken voices. Mok clung to him, overwhelmed, every nerve lit, every thought blurred into sensation.
“I…Rome…I can’t…”
“You’re doing so good,” Rome murmured against him, voice low. “Stay with me.”
But Mok was already slipping again, the tension winding tight, too much and not enough all at once.
“You're so tight. Fuck.” Rome groaned. “So good for me.” He held Mok’s hip to move them up and down, trying to help him move better. “Carrying my child, you look so perfect. Fuck. What did I do to deserve you? I love you so much.” Rome found his neck and bit it, hard, and then soothed it with his tongue.
Mok rocked back and forth, whimpering. His thighs were shaking. He collapsed forward, breath hitching, body trembling as the intensity crashed over him again.
Rome held him through it, one hand steady at his back, the other at his hip, keeping him grounded even as everything else blurred.
“You’re okay,” he said quietly, softer now. “I’ve got you.”
Mok could barely respond, only managing a faint, shaky sound as he pressed closer, hiding his face against Rome’s shoulder.
Rome didn’t let him.
A hand came up, gentle but firm, guiding his face back.
“Stop hiding,” he said again, quieter this time, but just as certain. “I want to see you.”
Rome pulled Mok up with him as he adjusted against the headboard, refusing to break the connection. He latched onto Mok’s chest mid movement, sucking greedily.
Mok was completely gone. He was grinding down desperately, sobbing from the overstimulation as Rome’s thrusts met him with force. Every bounce pressed Mok’s chest harder against Rome’s mouth, everything becoming unbearable.
“I’m gonna come…fuck…”
“Let it happen,” Rome growled. “Right here, give it all to me.”
“Fuck…Please, I can’t move…”
Rome pulled back, his breath coming in ragged hitches. “Don’t stop now, baby…do it for me...”
He drove upward with a sharp, raw power that drew a broken sob from Mok’s throat. Every heavy bounce sent a ripple through Mok’s body, his thighs, his growing belly, and his chest all trembling with the brutal pace.
Rome was a complete mess beneath him. “You’re so good for me, Mok.” he groaned, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Mok’s backside, kneading him as he kept up the relentless pace. “So soft…I could stay like this forever.”
Mok hid his face in the crook of Rome’s neck, his voice reduced to a thin whimper. “I can’t…”
In one powerful yet gentle motion, Rome flipped him onto his back. Mok let out a sharp, startled gasp as he hit the mattress. Rome hovered over him, his eyes dark and blown wide with adrenaline.
He hooked one of Mok’s legs over his shoulder and buried himself deep inside. A guttural raw sound tore from his throat. The impact made Mok’s soft stomach ripple, and Mok immediately tried to shield himself with his hands, his face burning with a mix of insecurity and heat.
“No,” Rome hissed, pinning Mok’s wrists to the bed. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”
“Rome…”
“Mok, I love your stomach,” Rome snapped, his hips slamming into Mok’s even harder. “I love watching the way you move when I’m in you. I love how you look. You’re the most beautiful thing in my life.”
It took a few more thrusts before Mok was coming with a series of fuckfuckfuck coming out of his mouth.
Rome continued through it. Each thrust knocked the air right out of Mok’s lungs. The sound of their bodies meeting was filthy.
Rome eventually slowed his pace, pulling out just enough to press a series of kisses down the center of Mok’s belly. He paused, whispering against the soft skin there. “So pretty,” he breathed, his hands sliding up Mok’s thighs to urge them even wider.
“You’re shaking. Baby, you're shaking.” He kissed Mok's lips. Practically sucked them.
He broke the kiss and then, “I need to come. I really do, please. Can I keep going, baby?”
Mok gave a weak, trembling nod, his fingers clutching Rome’s shoulders as he fell apart completely.
With a final, frantic series of thrusts, Rome finally spilled deep inside him, his entire body locking up as he filled Mok with everything in him.
He pulled back halfway, his breath coming in sharp hitches, he positioned his cock over Mok's stomach and finished across it as well, the come blending with the sweat already coating his skin.
Rome bent down to kiss Mok again. “I love you. I love you so much.” Rome began to sink forward onto Mok’s chest, but Mok’s hands flew up, bracing against Rome’s shoulders to keep the weight off.
“Not on me,” Mok panted, his voice barely a whisper.
Rome shifted instantly, propping himself up on his elbows to take the pressure off. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with a sudden tenderness. He leaned down, pressing soft kisses to Mok’s damp, trembling stomach.
“I love you,” Rome murmured against his skin. “I love you both so much.”