Chapter 62: A Belly Full of Homecoming
The door of The Ember & Stein swung inward on a gust of crisp autumn wind, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. Yamato filled the frame, his travel cloak dusted with the grey of long roads, the steel of his pauldrons dull under the clouded sky. Three days of patrol along the northern border, three days of cold campfires and wary watches, fell away from him the moment his eyes found the bar.
Taichi was scowling at a ledger, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. The apron strings, usually tied in a firm, no-nonsense knot over his flat stomach, now cinched above a pronounced, undeniable curve. The linen of his shirt strained gently over the swell, the fabric taut and smooth. He looked up, sensing the shift in the air, the sudden focused silence where there should have been the clatter of arrival.
Their eyes met across the smoky room. Taichi’s scowl softened into something startled, then sheepish, a faint blush rising on his cheeks.He’d known, of course. But seeing Yamato see it—that was different.Yamato didn’t move for a full three heartbeats. Then he strode forward, his pack hitting the flagstones with a dull thud near the hearth, ignored. He bypassed the empty stools and walked straight behind the bar. His hands, still cold from the road, came up to frame Taichi’s belly, pressing possessively against the rounded firmness.
“I was gone three days,” he breathed, his voice rough from disuse and something richer, more awed.His blue eyes were wide, fixed on where his hands made contact. “How is this even possible?”
A laugh burst out of Taichi, nervous and bright. He swatted at Yamato’s wrists, but there was no force in it. “They grow, you colossal idiot.It’s what they do. Your son or daughter apparently decided this was the week to stop being subtle.” He felt flustered, exposed, with Yamato’s large hands mapping the new territory of his body in the middle of his tavern. The two elderly merchants in the corner had stopped their game of tiles to watch.
“Feels like a melon,” Yamato murmured, his thumbs rubbing slow circles. “A perfect, warm melon.”
“Oh, for—get off!” Taichi shoved him, his face now fully crimson. “You smell like a horse and you’re blocking my service area.”
Yamato didn’t retreat. He leaned in, his forehead touching Taichi’s, his scent—cold air, leather, steel, and underlying it, the deep, familiar pine of him—washing over Taichi. “I missed you,” he said, simple and direct.
“You saw me three days ago.”
“Too long.” Finally, Yamato closed the last inch and kissed him.It was not a chaste kiss. It was deep and claiming, a re-establishment of presence, his hands sliding around to cradle the small of Taichi’s back, pressing him closer. From the guards’ table by the fire came a low chorus of whistles and a gruff, “Get a room, Captain!”
Yamato broke the kiss, resting his brow against Taichi’s again, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his face. “I believe we have one,” he said, just loud enough for the guards to hear, eliciting another round of raucous laughter.
Later, after Sora had taken over the bar with a longsuffering sigh and a pointed comment about “hormonal alphas clogging up the workspace,” they climbed the narrow stairs to the attic.The room was dim, lit by a single tallow candle. The wind muttered under the eaves.
Taichi sat on the edge of the bed, the old frame creaking softly.He worked at the knots of his apron, his fingers uncharacteristically clumsy. Yamato knelt before him, having shed his armor and outer layers, leaving him in a soft, worn shirt. He stilled Taichi’s hands and undid the apron himself, letting it fall aside.Then, gently, he pushed up Taichi’s shirt.
The swell was more evident without fabric pooling around it. In the candlelight, the skin looked stretched and shiny, a line of dark hair trailing down from his navel. Taichi watched Yamato’s face, saw the flicker of raw, unguarded wonder there.
Yamato’s hands, now warm, settled on him.Not gripping, just resting. He bent his head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the very center of the curve.
“Hello in there,” he whispered, his voice a low vibration against Taichi’s skin.“I’m back. Sorry I was late.”
A slow, warm flush spread through Taichi’s chest, melting the last of his self-consciousness.He lay back on the pillows, allowing Yamato this.Allowing himself this. Yamato followed him down, lying on his side alongside the bed, his cheek pressed to Taichi’s stomach, one hand splayed wide over the dome.
“Did you feel anything while I was gone?” Yamato asked.“Any more flutters?”
“A few. Mostly when I was trying to sleep.” Taichi carded his fingers through Yamato’s hair, the gold strands catching the weak light. “Like a tiny fish turning over in a dark pond.”
Yamato smiled against his skin.He kissed the spot again.“I missed a moment. I won’t miss another.Not one.”
“You have duties. Knights don’t get paternity leave.”
“Then I’ll be very, very efficient with my duties.” Yamato shifted, leaning up on one elbow to look at Taichi’s face.His expression was serious now, the playfulness gone. “This is the miracle, Taichi.Not border skirmishes, not royal decrees. This.You.Here.”
Taichi looked away, his throat tight. He focused on the familiar water stain on the ceiling that looked like a galloping horse. “It’s just biology,” he muttered, the old defense rising automatically.Yamato’s finger gently turned his chin back. “It’s our biology.And it’s terrifying. And it’s magnificent.” He leaned down and kissed him, slow and sweet. “And you are the most stubborn, beautiful vessel for a miracle I have ever seen.”
A surprised, wet laugh escaped Taichi. He pulled Yamato up onto the bed properly, into his arms, letting the alpha’s solid weight anchor him. Yamato’s hand never left his stomach, a constant, warm point of contact as they lay tangled together in the dark.Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the shutters. Inside, the candle guttered, casting dancing shadows over the curve of Taichi’s belly, over Yamato’s protective hand, over their quiet, shared breath. The future was in the room with them, growing, real, and for once, Taichi didn’t feel the need to argue with it.