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Frederick, since he was young, never felt like he fit into his skin.
Some would call it insecurity. Others, a lack of belonging. Or even dysphoria.
And maybe it was all those things. But it was also something more.
Something that he was born into.
***
Frederick lay splayed out sideways on the couch, the high walls of the antique attic like a cocoon for his rest. He let out a puff of breath, glaring vehemently at the painting on the far side of the room. He’d seen it once before, in an art book. Blake’s work had never caught his attention much, but he used to find his designs uniquely pretty.
Now, at this moment, it just made him want to puke. Or maybe that was the baby.
He heard the gentle creaking of the steps, in opposition to the heavy footfalls that caused them. A sturdy house, if nothing else.
Frederick rolled over with a groan, turning his body into the back of the couch. He could see the imposing shadow peer over him, accompanied by deep breathing.
“You haven’t eaten today,” the deep, yet raspy voice said.
“Everything sounds disgusting,” Frederick snapped back, tucking the pillow more between his shoulder and head.
A pause. Then, he heard, “You should be in bed. The couch isn’t good for your back.”
“Well, I don’t like the bed. It’s too drafty in there.”
A sigh. “I have checked the windows and the vents. It’s fine.”
Frederick’s eyes narrowed. “Well, it feels horrible. I mean, haven’t you ever properly cleaned that room up? It smells of mothballs.”
He heard the sound of knuckles cracking, followed by a quiet growl. “I have vacuumed and sprayed.”
“Not enough, clearly.”
Another moment of silence. Then, the shadow disappeared. The footsteps began their trek away.
And Frederick could feel that tiny voice in the back of his head reprimanding him.
“Francis?” he called out, his voice gentler.
The footfalls stopped.
“...could you come and rub my stomach?” Frederick asked, trying to put the best pout he could into his voice.
The footsteps came back.
Frederick sat up with a groan, turning his body around. He looked up at his companion, those intense blue eyes staring down at him. Francis’ height loomed over him, like a tall tree in a dark forest.
Then, Francis moved to sit down beside him, encouraging the man to lay back into him, hands on his shoulders. Frederick acquiesced, letting out a puff of air.
Finally, Francis' large hands began their work and Frederick let out a whine. It was a good whine, feeling some of the weight and discomfort fleeing, even if it was only temporary.
Francis’ face pressed to the side of Frederick’s, inhaling his scent and rubbing his nose to his temple.
“...I acknowledge that I am being harsh with you,” Frederick said, after a lull in their conversation.
Francis let out a hum.
“I just…loathe this.” Frederick winced as he talked. “This…feeling of this thing growing inside me. It’s so…” He let out a groan. “Damning.”
“This thing will be our child,” Francis replied, his voice soft.
“I know, and that’s another matter entirely,” Frederick replied. “I’m behind on my book, I’ve hardly gone out in public, I feel sick constantly–and then I have to figure out how to be a parent of all things. And that was most definitely not how I thought my year was going to go.”
“It isn’t what I had planned either.”
On anyone else, the words would have been interpreted as bitter and angry. And Frederick, petty as he was, would have believed that for another person.
But he’d gotten to know Francis.
Spent time with him.
Fell in love with him.
Francis wanted this child. He’d said so, early on. If anything, he seemed almost pleased by the thought, despite the terrifying nature of their new situation.
Frederick had a theory that it was the perfect way to keep Frederick attached to him. Francis’ claim forever burned into him.
Still, this all was just an accident.
“...I know the fault is far more on my shoulders,” Frederick said quietly.
Francis’ hands paused. Then, one drifted up to Frederick's scarred cheek, allowing their eyes to meet.
“It was a mistake,” Francis said.
“A mistake that caused another life to be created,” Frederick said, his eyes averting. Then, they shut in frustration. “I was a complete fool. To not have a grip on how my body functions–”
“You were lost in the moment,” Francis said, leaning in and pressing a tender kiss to his head.
God help him, Frederick could feel tears welling up in his eyes. “My father always said my transformations were pathetic.”
Francis gripped his jaw tighter, forcing his eyes to open. “You are not pathetic.”
“He told me if I couldn’t get a hold of my transformations, I may as well not transform at all,” Frederick mumbled, the tears slipping down his face.
“It’s your body,” Francis mumbled back. “You can do whatever you want with it.”
“And getting pregnant was somehow on that list of things,” Frederick spat back.
“That was an accident.”
“But it was my accident.”
Francis let out a huff through his nose. “We were both involved.”
Frederick let out a groan. “Yes, I remember, mi amor. And I also remember you describing my body in a very specific way as you–” He shut his mouth, realizing he was letting the bitterness leak out of him as he wiped at his stray tears. “...in my vulnerable position, let’s just say you put certain ideas in my head.”
Francis, with an audacity that made Frederick want to smack him, smirked a crooked little smile. “It was a very good night, all things considered.”
Frederick shoved at his chest, twisting in his grasp. “You–”
Francis grabbed at his wrists, effectively holding him in place. “Don’t aggravate yourself. It will make you sick.”
“You’re the one aggravating me!” Frederick snapped, tugging in vain.
Francis pulled Frederick in, releasing one of his wrists, only to wrap an arm around him. He pulled him into a hug. Frederick struggled for just a moment longer, before relaxing into the man’s warm embrace.
Silence fell between them, Frederick listening to the consistent beat of Francis’ heart.
“...I hate feeling like this,” Frederick whispered. “Angry at everything in the world, then sobbing like a girl stood up at prom night. And I have to hold this together lest my body attempt to full revert back and crush it–”
Francis’ hand rubbed up and down his back. “It won’t be forever,” he reminded him.
Frederick exhaled shakily. “...do you think I’ll be able to love it?” His hands, long since released, dug into Francis’ shirt like a lifeline. “When it’s finally out of me…and I’m able to hold it? I keep reading how new mothers, and even fathers, just have this sudden love for their child…just by holding it.”
He felt another kiss on his head. “...not all parents do. Mine didn’t.” Francis pressed his nose into Frederick’s hair. “...but I hope we can. I want us to.”
Frederick's eyes slipped shut, basking in the attention and hopeful thoughts.
“...no matter what. I will protect it. And you.”
Frederick could feel the large hands shift. They became more scaly and clawlike, yet they touched his stomach as gently as if they were rolling an egg.
Frederick’s eyes opened calmly, seeing the red claws caressing his stomach. He felt a heated breath on his neck, catching a stray wing flapping out of the corner of his eye.
“You're getting worked up over the thought, mi dragón rojo?”
A rumbling growl was his answer, followed by a scaly face burying itself into his neck.
Frederick smiled at the gesture. His hand moved to caress Francis’ face, his fingers blindly trailing up to stroke up one of his horns. Frederick heard another growl slip out from Francis’ throat.
“Mm…all things considered,” Frederick remarked with a smirk, “You are very good at making me feel safe…”
Francis’ lips pressed to his scarred cheek. “You are mine…mine to keep safe. And treasured.”
Frederick fought back a bigger smile. “Your sentimentality could give someone a toothache.”
“Are you complaining?” Francis asked, his tail hitting the back of the couch audibly in a gentle rhythm.
“About that? Not at all.” Frederick relaxed into Francis’ hold. “Mm…you know. With our combined genes, the child will most definitely be like us. A shifter.” His gaze turned distant, staring back at the painting that gave Francis so much inspiration. “Part of me hopes that will give it a better chance, but being born into a shifter family didn’t help me much in that regard.”
Francis nuzzled Frederick’s cheek again. “Mm. But we aren’t your parents.”
Frederick let out a puff of air. “Indeed. And I’d like to keep it that way. For all of our sakes.”
The clawed hands rubbed soothingly, using the heels of Francis’ hands to give the other more relief.
“...I think you will be better than them,” Francis replied. “You know the pain of having a parent not believe in you. Dismiss you. Make decisions for you. You won’t want to put our child through that.”
Frederick’s hands came up, enveloping over Francis’. “...you will, too,” Frederick said softly.
His companion didn't reply.
Frederick squeezed his red, scaly hands. “You will.”
He could feel Francis’ hot breath against the back of his neck, making his skin tingle.
“...I want to be,” Francis whispered.
“You will, Francis,” Frederick said for the third time, his voice resolute and final.
Francis’ tail slipped around, wrapping itself atop Frederick's legs, even curling the end around Frederick's ankle. Frederick smiled at the action, his body sinking into the warmth of his lover.
“...if you spray some Febreze in the bedroom, I'll go lay downstairs,” Frederick promised.
He heard a soft chuckle leave Francis’ nose. “Okay.”