Kade has hardly removed his own shirt either, now that Felix thinks about it. Kade sometimes does, but his shirt stays on more often than not, and... it’s not as though he’s pregnant. He’s never been shy about his chest before. Felix frowns, dragging his gaze back to the bills—the rent, the electricity, the water, his phone...
The water bills have been increasing. And so have the grocery receipts. Felix bites his lip, thinking about his half-stocked fridge and the baby needing more food, and the doctor’s appointments that the internet says he should make, but he hasn’t yet. In the living room, the pregnancy books Taylor brought along are hidden in some boxes, just in case Kade visits. Felix knows he should eat better, knows he should exercise and talk to other pregnant omegas...
It suddenly feels like looming mountain that Felix isn’t fit enough to climb, and a nervous pang shoots through his stomach.
He’s looked at a few post-natal websites—bottle feeding, teaching children to talk, teaching them about discipline. He wouldn’t do what his own father has done. But is that good enough? Felix has other flaws, doesn’t he, and what if his baby grows up resenting that?
“I hope you won’t be disappointed in me,” he says, looking at the bump of his sweater. “Your dad isn’t all that clever, or brave like your other dad. I... I think Kade would do a better job raising you.”
Except Kade had asked about condoms all those months ago, and Felix hadn’t remembered enough to get his BC right.
“I can’t even pay these bills,” Felix says, covering his face. “I’m not even out of Meadowfall yet.”
In his belly, the baby shifts slightly, as though disapproving. An inexplicable wave of misery swamps Felix. He hates himself. Hates how he can’t pull a mask on these days, when his hormones wreck havoc on his body. Felix wishes he isn’t sobbing, but the tears spill down his cheeks like water from a broken dam.
He curls up in his chair, hands over his face, and thinks about Kade, about the unborn child, about his father and the cheerful family Kade used to have. He wails harder. What would his own mother have done? He doesn’t know, because he’s never met his mother at all.
He goes through handfuls of tissue, and when the misery finally washes away, Felix slumps into his seat, still faced with bills and still pregnant.
The phone buzzes. He reaches for it, feeling like a wrung towel, and his pulse skips when Kade’s name flashes on the screen.
Thought about you, Kade writes. Want a plushy? Along with the text, he’s attached a graphic of a stuffed giraffe. Felix laughs, his cheeks still wet. He scrolls up through their conversation, looking through the texts they’ve exchanged. Scattered through numerous 6 AM now, don’t be late texts, he finds Are you busy tonight? and Was thinking that selling more cookies would help and I hate my boss.
He flicks through the conversation, ending up at the giraffe again, and he remembers Are you scared of me?
Kade had pressed close that afternoon in the convenience store, and in that heartbeat, he had thought Kade would reach for him, kiss him, squeeze his cock right there in the middle of the aisle.
Blood rushes down his body, pooling at his groin. Felix gulps, reaching down, rubbing himself through his pants. He wants Kade with him. He strokes his thumb down his cock, pretending it’s Kade’s touch instead, and he grows stiff, straining against his briefs and pants. The material chafes a little against his skin, mildly annoying.
He hooks his thumb into the waistbands and pulls them down over his cock, looking at its flushed red tip, the fine veins that stretch across his skin. Felix licks his lips, sliding his foreskin down, his eyelids fluttering shut at the pleasure humming through his body.
He closes his fist around himself, stroking slowly, thinking about Kade standing over him, about Kade’s cock on his face, and wouldn’t Kade like to see this now, Felix hard for him, all wet at his tip?
His pulse quickens, throbbing between his legs. Felix picks up his phone, tapping on the camera app.
In the incandescent lights of the kitchen, the image on the screen is far too orangey, but it’s not as though Kade will judge that. Felix holds the phone up, angling his cock down with a thumb, and snaps one picture of it. He flushes. They haven’t done this before. Five years ago, a picture message cost a dollar to send.
Am I being too needy? We haven’t really been talking. He bites his lip, fingers digging into the phone. Before he stops himself, he attaches the picture to their conversation, and sends it. Then he sets the phone down, pushes Kade out of his mind, and strokes himself. I’m not thinking about it.
A minute later, the phone buzzes. Heat sweeps through his face. Felix groans, tossing his head back against the chair. “Tell me I’m a slut, why don’t you?”
He avoids touching his phone while the wall clock ticks the seconds away. But curiosity sinks sharp teeth into his mind. Felix picks the phone back up, holding his breath. 1 new message from Kade. He taps on the text notification, heart thudding.
Right beneath the too-orange picture is a too-yellow picture. It’s Kade’s denim-clad thighs pushed down low on his hips, and his cock jutting up hungrily, thick and big, pink at the tip.
Did you get hard because of me? The pressure at his groin magnifies. Felix moans, tightening his fingers, sliding his skin down, and he reaches into his pants to lift his balls out, letting them rest on cool fabric. Felix imagines Kade at home, stroking his own cock. Then he takes another picture, his fist pulling the foreskin away from his gleaming tip, and sends it.
Half a minute
