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Some mornings are easier than others, when one finds themselves in the state Dream is currently in. He remembers how mornings were when he was pregnant with Orpheus; the bedroom always felt colder in the morning than it did at night, partly due to his bed chambers facing away from the afternoon sun, and partly due to the lack of his mate’s presence next to him in bed. The first few months were filled with a sort of dread, creeping up quicker every day that went by. Would all mornings be like this? The fear of knowing the answer was almost as bad as the realisation that he would not be proven wrong.
Things were definitely different now. Dream would usually wake up to the darling shape of Hob silhouetted by the gentle morning sun filtered through the curtains. He’d be kissed, gently, sweetly, every morning. Hob made sure to always wake up before Dream, to be the one to bring him breakfast, to help him through the nausea that would take over his stomach almost every morning. The bigger Dream’s belly got, the more admiration and awe he could see in Hob’s eyes. He found himself worshipped for the same reason he’d been previously discarded, and wasn’t that a blessing?
Some mornings were easier than others, for him. As winter slowly approached their home by the sea, some mornings became harder than most for Hob.
Dream could see it in the way Hob seemed to be hiding a slightly more intense limp than on a usual day. He noticed the tension on his husband’s jaw, the tautness of his shoulders, and how, by Hob’s standards, he seemed less cheerful than what Dream had grown accustomed to. Still, Hob insisted in waking up earlier than Dream, in bringing him breakfast in bed, in holding Dream’s belly to give his back a break; no matter that it would be on the expense of Hob’s poor knee and bad shoulder. Dream noticed the effort, as he noticed every new lovely grey hair and every beautiful line on the corner of his mate’s eyes when he smiled. He’d winced more times than Dream would have liked to, though.
———
That morning, Hob Gadling woke up to the silhouette of his very pregnant husband blocking the sunlight coming in from the window. He blinked his eyes slowly, being made aware, also, of the pain on his knee the moment his body decided to stir.
The sight of Dream’s belly was still a wonder to him. Hob remembered the moment he’d first laid eyes on Dream; he remembered how ethereal and otherworldly he looked. Hob also remembered the hollowness of Dream’s cheeks, his slightly chapped lips and the fragility in his gaze. Now, Dream housed a whole other being inside him, with fuller cheeks tinted rosy pink and eyes filled with newfound confidence. It was magical. It made Hob proud.
“Good morning, dearest.” Dream’s voice sounded like music to Hob’s ears. He watched as Dream leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Instinctively, Hob’s hand reached for his mate’s belly, almost in an effort to make sure Dream was real.
Hob had been trying to say some nicer things, more poetic, to honour Dream’s taste for endearments. He wasn’t sure if he was succeeding, but he was surely trying. “…do my eyes deceive me, or do I witness a solar eclipse?”
Dream raises a brow, and if it weren’t for the fondness in those blue eyes, Hob would have believed him to take offence. “Do you intend to say I am shaped like the moon now?”
“No! well, yes. But also in the poetic sense. There’s a celestial body shielding my eyes from the morning sun—“
Hob’s would have continued in his attempt to compare Dream to the moon, had it not been for the sharp pain travelling from his knee to his spine in his attempt to sit up in bed. Dream quickly comes to his aid, placing a hand on Hob’s upper back, the other clasping at Hob’s hand to help him sit up. “Dove, you shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I have noticed your discomfort in the past week, beloved. Not only I, but so has Lucienne. So has Orpheus.” Dream is careful not only in his aiding of Hob, but in the tone he chooses to deliver his words. “Do you intend to teach our son to hide his pain? To refuse care? How do you benefit from it? How do I, or our children?”
Our son. Our children.
Hob wasn’t planning to cry so early that day. He thinks of saying something, but Dream seems to have really thought out what he was about to say. There was a fierceness in the kindness of his tone, a gentleness to his fire.
“—I do not wish to chastise you, only to provide you with that which you’ve been so generous in giving me. I’ve not once felt the need to hide my discomfort from you. I would hope you allow yourself the same liberties.”
“Dove, I—“ Hob squeezes Dream’s hand. He’s unsure of how to deal with the emotions quickly bubbling up in his chest. “I’m your alpha. I’m here to take care of you. I’ve said it, I serve—“
“—at my pleasure, yes. And it will be my pleasure to care for you.”
Hob grins, and he can feel his nose getting stuffy from the tears now streaming down his cheeks. Dream is quick to wipe them away, coming closer to press kisses to Hob’s cheeks and to the tip of his nose. “Allow me this, dearest. There’s nothing that will bring me more joy than to see your pain relieved.”
“God, how I love you. Yes, please. I need it.”
———
Some mornings are easier than others. Dream found that taking care of Hob made even his own discomfort easier to bear. He wondered, as he helped his husband to the bathroom to wash his face, if Hob found the same comfort in taking care of him. He already had his answer, and it filled him with joy as big as his belly had gotten.
There was something else entirely new and fulfilling about helping Hob sit back on the bed, fluffing up his pillows and bringing in a warm blanket to keep his knee away from the cold. Lucienne was incredible help with the things that were more physically taxing, and Orpheus was just as excited to spend the day in bed reading with and to his dads than he would have catching frogs outside by the pond. Hob would sometimes reach for Dream’s belly, rubbing it gently and making circles with the tip of his fingers. Dream was glad to be able to offer comfort, no matter how small. He was falling in love again, as he surely would in the next morning, and every morning after.
Some mornings were easier than others. That morning, Dream would cherish forever.