The onesie had pooled on his belly. Greg leaned back, watching as Dale inspected the tiny sleeves on the garment, the snap-on buttons and the fluffy tail.
In the sunlight streaming through the room, Dale’s hair was lit a vivid coppery brown, his eyes bright green. Before this relationship with Dale, when Greg had been watching his professor step in and out of class, Dale hadn’t grinned much at all. He’d go over his lessons, a smile occasionally on his lips.
But that was nothing compared to the awe on his face right now, the spark of excitement in his eyes.
Greg’s chest was way too small for the affection he felt. He wanted to preserve this moment forever, this image of Dale happy.
He slid his phone out, snapping a photo of Dale, capturing his lit eyes, his slender fingers, the onesie stretched out along his body.
“Hey!” Dale yelped, yanking the onesie further down. “I’m naked!”
Greg blinked. “Oh.”
“‘Oh’?” Dale narrowed his eyes. “Surely that doesn’t mean you never look at me, Greg Hastings.”
He canted his hips up, spreading them, and Greg smirked. “‘Course I look at you. I just wanted a picture of you and the onesie.”
Dale raised a skeptical eyebrow, so Greg opened his phone gallery, showing him the picture. In it, Dale’s delight had been real, and he’d been preoccupied with the outfit, his face radiant in the sunlight.
“I look old,” Dale said, frowning.
Greg stared. “What? You look fine.”
Dale took the phone from him, zooming in on his hair, where there were a few streaks of gray. Then he showed Greg his abdomen, and his face. “See?”
“I don’t see it. You look good.” Greg tapped out of the gallery, pressing a kiss to his lips. “You look like someone I want to marry.”
Dale’s breath hitched. “I’m too—”
“You’re perfect,” Greg said, settling on the bed next to him. He started up the phone camera again. This time, he switched the view to the secondary camera, and angled it so they were both in the image—Dale with his glasses on, Greg with his hair mussed. “C’mon, smile.”
Dale leaned out of the image. “You’re not posting this on Facebook, are you?”
“‘Course not. But I want pictures of us. I want pictures of our family.”
“Our...” Dale looked down, stroking his still-flat abdomen.
“Want a photo of me kissing it?” Greg smiled, handing Dale the phone. Then he kissed around Dale’s navel, down the line of his belly, to the bare skin right before his groin. “Or I’ll blow a raspberry here.”
Greg puffed his cheeks and pressed his lips to Dale’s skin, and Dale pushed his face away, laughing. “No!”
“Okay, fine. What about a picture?” Greg kissed his belly, right over where the baby was. And Dale blushed, his smile mellowing.
“All right.” When Dale took the picture, the look in his eyes had softened. Greg wished Dale could see himself the way Greg did—the way he shone with his kindness, his humor, his affection.
Greg kissed all the way up Dale’s chest, to his lips. Then he looked at the picture Dale had taken, of him and their unborn baby. And a low, hot possessiveness growled in his chest.
“Mine,” Greg whispered, kissing him on the mouth. He traced his wrist along Dale’s jaw, down his throat, to his chest and belly and cock, marking Dale as his.
Dale flushed scarlet, but he watched Greg, a tiny smile on his lips. “Yours,” he murmured.
“Gonna marry me?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Greg kissed him again. Then he settled down beside Dale, angling the camera back at them. “Are you smiling for this one?”
“I will.” Dale nestled close. Greg snapped a picture of them together, Dale more at ease with the camera than before.
“You look good,” Greg whispered.
“I do not.”
Greg slipped his arms around his omega, hugging him anyway. Next week, Greg would have his finals. Then he’d start working, buy his omega a ring with his own money. Start working full-time. Make enough to support his family, instead of relying on his father and his conditional gifts. But first, he had to get through that damn dinner with his father and Penny.
“You agreed to dinner with my dad,” he said, frowning. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Dale blinked. Then his eyes widened. “Oh. Shit. I forgot—I thought... Well, I really do think Penny would be a better omega for you. Except that was before you told me about the not-being-into-girls thing.”
Greg stared at him, incredulous. “I’m not marrying anyone else but you.”
Dale squirmed. “You say that, but you aren’t looking at yourself, Greg. You’re so young. So full of potential. You have bounds of energy and confidence and strength, and some days I can’t keep up with you.”
He looked down at his stomach, his expression faltering. “I’m still not sure about myself,” Dale said. “How can I be a good father? I’ve never had practice. I couldn’t even bear a child until now. I don’t know if I’m fit to raise a child—”
“You’re perfect,” Greg said, kissing his lips. “Stop thinking about Charles. You’re not even married to him anymore. You don’t need to believe what his parents say. And your body and mind are two different things. Just because you couldn’t conceive doesn’t make you a bad parent.”
Greg thought about his own father, who sneered and said Tony wasn’t your bondmate. Move on. You’ll do better spending your life with someone worthwhile, and his gut simmered with old rage.
Dale had never once put down his relationship with Tony. He’d listened to Greg talk about Tony’s death, and he’d never judged Greg for any of it, not even when Greg knew the fault was his. And that would make Dale a better father than Bernard Hastings ever would be.
“You’re patient, and kind, and I’ve never met anyone as humble as you,” Greg said, kissing the tip of Dale’s nose. “I want you to be my baby’s father.”
Dale met
