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Casey stirred a half-second after Raph did. He cracked one eye open and waited.
He knew Raph too well to say or do anything. He knew that green-on-green tint that indicated nausea. So he waited, watching as Raph alternatively breathed deep, rolled his shoulders, pressed a hand to his plastron, looked up to the ceiling as though asking why, why had he allowed Casey fucking Jones to knock him up.
Hey. Casey hadn’t gotten him pregnant on purpose. Not his fault he’d slipped one past the goalie. The day they’d found out, Raph had alternated between punching him and sobbing with happiness in Casey’s arms. Again and again. Then again, it wasn’t too far removed from how they normally had sex.
He waited some more, watched as Raph swayed and sighed and tried to decide if he was going to tough it out in bed, or preemptively head to the bathroom. Sometimes it passed. Sometimes it violently did not.
Raph seemingly made up his mind, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed and heading over to the bathroom. Pausing only to pull on a pair of boxers, Casey followed without a word.
He knew Raph pretty well, inside and out (haha). He’d nursed Raph through enough injuries to know that, while Raph didn’t want to be fussed over, that he masked pain with snarls and bravado, it was all an act. Raph sure as shit never wanted to be alone when he was hurting.
He remembered, in the early days of their friendship, dragging Raph back to his apartment with a dislocated shoulder after a rough fight. He’d yanked the joint back in its socket, got Raph situated with some pain meds and pillows, and let him sleep it off in peace in Casey’s bed. It was only when Casey returned to check on him, an hour later, to find Raph wide awake, restless, and a suspicious wet sheen in his eyes.
He’d sat on the floor next to the bed, pulling out an old hockey stick from beneath the bed and pretending to get busy re-taping it. Raph seemed to calm down.
And then Casey ended up sitting on the bed next to him, and that was the day he realized Raph was a cuddler. And they hadn’t even started sleeping together yet.
And then they did start sleeping together, and now there was a kid growing inside him, turning Casey’s big tough boyfriend into a reluctant passenger on a rather wild ride. That was, at least partly, Casey’s fault.
In the bathroom, Casey let Raph get situated, half-kneeling in front of the toilet and swaying like his stomach wasn’t sure what it wanted to do yet. Casey grabbed a clean washcloth, ran it under cool water, filled a glass, and set it within reach on the side of the bathtub.
While Raph draped his arms over the rim of the toilet (yeah, Casey kept it clean, it was the least he could do for the poor guy who had to stare into the bowl every other day), breathing in slow through his nose and exhaling in shaky bursts, shoulders tight and hunched.
Casey was never a boy scout, but he was always prepared. He eased down to the floor a foot away and reached under the sink cabinet, where he’d stuffed a stack of magazines (and a few snacks, in case they were ever in here for the long haul.) He fished out a motorcycle magazine and flipped through it while Raph swallowed and shivered.
“Huh, check this out,” Casey said, voice low and casual, tapping the page. “New chopper from that custom shop in Queens. V-twin engine, blacked-out frame. Bet it’d feel great to take that one out."
Raph didn't look up, but Casey saw the tiny smile. "Yeah? Sounds like a pile a' junk waiting to happen. Those… ugh… those custom jobs always got something messed up. Frame bends on the first pothole."
Casey chuckled softly, turning the page. "Hey, says this one’s reinforced. Titanium accents. C’mon babe, you’d love tearing up the backroad on it, admit it. Wind whipping, me in the bitch seat, holding on for dear life.”
“Wind’d probably snap the handlebars.” Raph made a tight sound that was probably a chuckle, crossing his arms on the edge of the seat and resting his cheek on them. “‘Side, you riding in the bitch seat is what got me in this condition in the first place.”
Casey smirked, reaching over to grab one of Raph’s shaky hands. “Didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”
“Bitch.”
“Hey look, there’s another custom job here. Bet that one would fit a baby seat.”
“God, stop being stupid.” Raph turned back, forehead resting on his arms, but Casey definitely saw the smile.
At least, before a gag worked its way up Raph’s throat. His whole body seized with it, but nothing came out. The smile was long gone. He hadn’t batted Casey’s hand away, and Casey hadn’t let go.
Casey turned the magazine pages one-handed, settled on an article with a low whistle. “Wow. Vintage bike going to auction. 1949 E90 AJS Porcupine. Only $7 million. Think your bros will lend us some cash?”
“Put it on the… the baby shower registry.”
“Done deal.”
Raph seized with another gag. This time, he bowed forward and retched, sending a small spurt into the water below.
Casey set the magazine aside, scooting closer. His hand landed on the curve of Raph’s shell, rubbing in firm, circular motions. The shell was warm, something that’d surprised Casey the first time he’d touched it, expecting cool texture like stone. He knew better now, and he knew how sensitive the rough surface could be. He knew it felt good to scratch, and he knew the slow, circular rubs were soothing, no matter what was bothering Raph.
“You’re good,” Casey soothed. He rubbed some more, then reached for the wet cloth, dabbing the sweat from the back of Raph’s neck without crowding him. “I gotcha. You’re good. Water?”
“N-not yet.”
Casey had good instincts, sometimes. He certainly did when it came to Raph. He rubbed until he sensed Raph wanted space, and went back to flipping through the magazine.
“There’s an ad here for beer. I think. Want to see the giant tatas?”
Raph threw the wet cloth at him.
“Oh here we go! ‘Tired of going flat on the straightaway? Rev up with Viagra!’”
“God, shut up,” Raph snickered weakly.
“‘Guaranteed to keep you hard and ready for the long haul!’”
“Y… yeah? Get some.”
“Yeah right. You want twenty more kids?”
“Start with one, then we’ll talk.” Raph’s breathing evened out. He was teasing, Casey could tell, but the thought of more kids, already, kind of made Casey’s heart skip in a goofy, happy way.
Raph seemed in better spirits. With a tired huff, he grabbed the glass and took a sip, then crawled the short distance until he was plastered against Casey, halfway into his lap, head on Casey’s bare chest. Casey’s arms went around him automatically, and he resumed the gentle strokes along Raph’s shell.
“Better?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Wanna head back to bed? Get some more shut-eye?”
Raph grunted, shaking his head and using it as an excuse to nuzzle closer. “This’s fine.”
Casey smiled, holding him tight under the bright glow of the bathroom lights. Yep. This was more than fine.