Chapter 24: The Weight of a Prince
The change became undeniable.
Where before there had been a subtle firmness, a suggestion of curve, now there was a pronounced, heavy swell. Taichi’s lower abdomen was full, rounding out beneath the cascade of orange and red scales. They stretched, taking on a polished, taut sheen in the grotto’s ethereal light. When he floated on his back, as he often did now, the mound rose from his form like a small, smooth island.
Yamato couldn’t keep his hands off it. He’d swim lazy circles around Taichi, then drift close, his fingers hovering before making contact, as if touching something sacred. He’d trace the hemisphere, feeling the incredible firmness, the living warmth humming just beneath the surface.
Taichi watched him, his amber eyes unreadable. He was less mobile, his movements more deliberate, and a permanent, grumpy fatigue had settled into his features.
“I look like a bloated pufferfish,” Taichi muttered one afternoon, glaring down at his own body. He prodded the side of the swell with a claw. “Or one of those absurd, bobbing seahorses the tide pool children laugh at.”
He said it with his usual sharpness, but Yamato heard the thread of genuine discontent woven through it. This proud prince, built for speed and power in the shallows, was being reshaped by a process that left him feeling ungainly.
Yamato didn’t reply with words. He simply closed the distance between them in the water, his movements slow and sure. He placed both hands on the curve, cradling its weight, his thumbs making gentle sweeps over the most stretched scales. Then he leaned in and kissed Taichi’s frowning mouth.
It was a soft, lingering kiss, nothing like their usual hungry collisions. When he pulled back, he kept his forehead resting against Taichi’s. “You’re beautiful,” Yamato murmured, his voice barely stirring the water between their lips.
Taichi’s gills fluttered, a rapid beat of transparent fronds along his ribs. A blush of deeper color warmed the tops of his cheekbones. He tried to maintain the scowl, but his eyes, so close to Yamato’s, had gone wide and vulnerable.
“You’re a terrible liar, land-walker,” Taichi breathed, but he was leaning into Yamato’s hands, his body subtly arching to press the mound more fully into that supportive hold. His own hands came up to grip Yamato’s wrists, not to push him away, but to anchor him there.
“I’m not lying.” Yamato kissed him again, briefly. “You’re carrying life. Our life. How could that be anything but beautiful?” He let one hand slide around to the small of Taichi’s back, feeling the new strain there, and began to knead the muscle with a firm, steady pressure.
A low, involuntary groan rumbled in Taichi’s chest. His head dropped forward onto Yamato’s shoulder, his pride fully abandoned for a moment of pure relief. “It’s heavy,” he admitted, the words muffled against Yamato’s skin. “And it… moves. Sometimes. Little flickers, like minnows in a cave.”
Yamato’s breath caught. He’d felt the firmness, the warmth, but not movement. Not yet. Awe flooded him, so intense it was dizzying. “Really?”
“Mmm.” Taichi nuzzled into the crook of his neck, his breathing evening out under the ministrations on his back. “Restless. Takes after you, no doubt.”
The joke was weak, but it made Yamato huff a quiet laugh. He held Taichi like that, suspended in the cool, silent water, one hand splayed over the front of him, the other working the tension from his back. The jellyfish pulsed their patient, blue rhythm. From the world above, Yamato was probably missed. His guitar would be gathering dust. The tavern keeper might be cursing his name. It all seemed infinitely small, a distant echo drowned out by the reality in his arms.
“What happens…” Yamato started, then stopped, unsure how to ask.
Taichi knew. He always knew. “When it’s time?” He lifted his head, his gaze clearing back to its sharp, intelligent norm. “It happens. Here. The grotto is safe. Deep part of the pool for the birthing.” He studied Yamato’s face. “You’ll help. Or you’ll faint. We’ll see.”
“I won’t faint.”
“You saw a torn fin and wept like a hatchling.”
“That was different,” Yamato protested, but he was smiling.
Taichi’s smirk returned, but it was softer now. He brought Yamato’s hand from his back around to his front, pressing it over the very crest of the swell. “Just wait,” he said. “You’ll feel them. Then you’ll really have something to marvel at.”
They stayed like that for a long time, floating in the silent, glowing dark, waiting for a sign.