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February 10 - February 12, 2022
Of course, Bellamy splits the difference. “Want something, Papa?” Pride at how quickly my boy’s growing up splits my face into a grin.
Dammit. Don’t tell your boyfriend not to worry when he’s literally stapling your flesh together. It’s just asking too much.
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Bellamy’s all black clothes don’t surprise me; the fact that it includes a short, hooded cape sure does. I’ve stepped into a video game. One of my characters can carry more weight than an iron man and the other is one with the shadows. I think that makes me the posh narrator with the British accent that hires the characters to go on an adventure to get the treasure or whatever. Fun.
Bellamy frowns at me and brushes my hand off his chest, but he holds my hand until the last second, basically admitting that he needs his Papa’s comfort.
“Some of us aren’t immune to poison and death,” Bellamy mutters, stepping away from the poisoned tumblers. “Yet,” Fox replies. “We’ll get you caught up on your immunizations.” I drop my jaw at Fox. You’re going to kill our son? His eyes light up with laughter. “Multiple times.”
“How exactly is that supposed to work? I’m not immortal. Not without Romily’s magic.” Papa. Bellamy doesn’t respond. Neither does Fox. The stalemate lasts a whole minute before Bellamy capitulates to fate. “Not without Papa’s magic.”
Wow, Bellamy in professional assassin mode is scarily competent. He’s totally going to end up being Annette’s favorite minion. I’m not even jealous; I’m just really fucking proud of my boy.
Fox chuffs next to me. “It just occurred to me that I’m going to have a red-headed step-child.” He turns to me with amusement twinkling in his dark hazel eyes. “I’m probably going to marry you just so I can say that.”
Every employee/minion in the place turns to look at the tiny little Asian guy with a country accent and goth gear and a voice that wouldn’t be out of place on a phone sex line. I mean, I could probably get off listening to him if he was dirty-talking me.
Just imagine Keanu Reeves in the Matrix fighting Mr. Smith, but you know, no slowy-downy parts. What? That’s a legitimate descriptive-word technique for the verbal, why can’t I use it? Don’t be prejudiced against the nonverbal. We can add the ee sound too. We just can’t make the ee sound.
Oooh, a shifter! Ok, a shifter with wings. Probably big since his omp is massive. Something with electricity. Possibly lightning and thunderstor— Fuck. I should have figured it out already. I even recently read a book with this kind of shifter in it. Dammit. Thunderbird, right?
I exaggerate a worried expression at him. Am I going to get sick? Is my dick going to fall off? Fox almost smiles but shakes his head. “You’re the one who told me you don’t want kids.” He looks at Bellamy. “We want you. You’re special.”
Listen, I’m not stupid. Mpreg is a thing in this world. I scowl at Fox. This is how people get pregnant, Fox. You needed to remind me last night that condoms will keep us from unexpected pregnancy!
