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Jon stood in the kitchen, pulling ingredients out of the pantry to prep for dinner when he heard it. A simple thud from the living room that, with a quick glance using his x-ray vision, Jon could confirm was Damian's book hitting the carpet. Jon stopped what he was doing, setting the can of diced tomatoes back on the counter so he could back up and round the island, eyes already locked onto the book his mate had dropped.
Speaking of his mate, Damian was currently glaring down at the fallen book, one hand resting on the bottom of his distended stomach, and the other was propping himself up on the couch. At eight months pregnant, Damian's mobility was almost completely shot, his once quick and light-footed stride now a much slower waddle as he made his way through their home. Alongside his slow walk, even the simpler tasks had Jon stepping over to help. Every night, Jon was carefully helping Damian into their raised bed, a hand on his back and another held out behind him in case he slipped. And, every night, Jon was waking up to help Damian down for his frequent bathroom trips and helping him right back up once he returned.
Jon never minded, and didn't believe there could be a universe out there in which he did mind. It was no secret that Damian had always had some aversion to pregnancy in general, his ever-looming fear of losing control and becoming a burden front and center. So when Damian had tentatively brought it up, reminding Jon of his own desire for children, Jon had been ecstatic and eternally grateful that Damian would put himself through the aches and pains of pregnancy just to expand their family. And now, here they were, married and mated for nearly three years, with a baby on the way, and Jon so grateful he thought he'd faint.
Though, over the last eight months, more specifically the last three, Jon had found that perhaps this one pregnancy would end with him going gray prematurely. By all accounts, the pregnancy was fine. Outside of the expected back pains, swollen feet, and general queasiness, there were no issues; both Damian and the pup were healthy. However, even now, rounder, softer, and more unsteady, Damian adamantly refused to rest properly. Jon should have expected it, and probably, somewhere in his brain, knew it was going to happen, but Damian just couldn't seem to find it within himself to just sit still, seemingly constantly restless.
The second they had found out, Damian had quit patrolling immediately, hanging up the Robin mantle for the foreseeable future. But that hadn't stopped much else. For the first two trimesters, Jon hadn't been especially worried about it, and he could hardly chide Damian for wanting to keep at least some of his exercise routine and independence. But now, he was too far along to do much, his feet constantly aching and his back twinging when he moved in certain positions. Somehow, though, Damian still found it within himself to demand Jon allow him to do things alone, no matter how impossible it seemed in his current state.
He had given up on swatting Jon away about the bed almost a month ago, now just heaving out an annoyed sigh, but all else still seemed fair game. When they were bringing in groceries, if Jon so much as hinted that perhaps Damian should carry a lighter load, Damian was stubbornly trying to gather as many bags as he could to carry inside. Jon had learned his way around that particular situation quickly, always making sure he was opening the trunk first and collecting the heaviest of the bags before the very pregnant Damian could even make it halfway to the back of the car.
And, of course, the absolute annoyance that sprung up each time Jon appeared to help Damian grab things he couldn't reach comfortably.
Like now.
Jon watched from where the kitchen and living room connected as Damian tried reaching down for his book, impeded by his stomach. His belly was huge now, a perfect, heavy swell that sat just lower than normal, most likely preparing to drop. The fabric of his shirts all pulled tightly around it unless Damian had bundled up in stolen shirts or hoodies. Jon took another step towards him, eyes still on Damian while he failed another attempt. Damian tried again, leaning forward, bracing himself with one hand on the couch cushion. His stomach pressed against his thighs, stopping him short. He grunted in frustration, shifting awkwardly to try another angle that would hopefully allow him to reach.
"Hey, let me grab it, okay?" Jon said, finishing the walk to Damian's side.
The second Jon called out, both of Damian's green eyes were on him, a frown on his face. He sat up, abandoning his third attempt at grabbing his book to instead cross his arms as best he could with his stomach in the way, and glared up at Jon.
"I can get it." He snapped out, shifting closer to the edge of the couch. Jon bit the inside of his cheek, forcing his grin down and, before Damian could make his fourth attempt, reached down to pluck the book off the floor. Jon rose back to his full height, holding his arm out to hand the book back over to his husband.
Damian only glared back, his jaw tight and teeth grinding. "I said I had it." He growled out, snatching the book back from Jon. He opened it briefly, flipping through the pages until he was back on to what Jon assumed was the page he was reading before dropping it, and then placed a bookmark inside.
"I know you did. But if I can do something without having to watch you struggle, why wouldn't I?" Jon replied.
Damian only glared harder, giving Jon a half-hearted scoff. Then, he snapped the book closed, bringing it up to his chest with one hand, and holding his other hand out with a scowl. Jon only smiled, taking hold of Damian's outstretched hand and carefully grasping his waist to help him up and onto his feet, his thumb brushing the underside of Damian's stomach. After Damian was standing, right as Jon went and tried pressing a quick kiss to his temple, Damian was pushing him back, growling tightly and smacking at Jon's arm with his book. "I am pregnant, not incapacitated," Damian said, voice slightly louder than before.
"I know, Dames—"
"No," Damian said, scowling at Jon before turning and pushing past Jon. "Find something else to occupy your time." Damian's voice was clipped. "I'm going to take a nap. Alone."
Jon watched as his husband began his waddle to their bedroom, a hand cradling the bottom of his stomach to support the weight. His eyes crinkled with amusement. "Okay, baby. Let me know if you need help getting on the bed."
"Do not follow me," Damian said sharply, one hand snaking behind him to rest on his lower back.
Before Jon could say anything back, he was interrupted by a quiet mrrph coming from the couch. Alfred the Cat, who had been lying across the back of the couch where Damian had once been sitting, had now jumped off. Her yellow eyes stared up at Jon, and she meowed at him once, walked over to rub against his shins briefly before she was hurrying off down the hallway, meowing loudly at Damian. Jon snorted when the bedroom door froze halfway through Damian closing it, opening up again to allow the feline through before loudly shutting it behind Alfred.
Jon stood in place even after the door closed, watching Damian with his X-ray vision to ensure he got himself up onto the bed without any issues. Once his mate had gotten himself comfortable in his nest, a pillow between his knees, two blankets pulled over himself, and Alfred the Cat pawing around, waiting for Damian to stop adjusting to make herself comfortable, Jon returned to the kitchen, his heart full.
He knew Damian. Knew of his stubbornness and impossible pride that could fuel him for days. Damian, eight months ago, would have already been asleep, resolute in his decision to kick Jon out of the room. But, at eight months pregnant, Jon knew within the hour the omega would come back. He always did.
Jon continued prepping for dinner, chopping up the vegetables and mixing spices so he wouldn't have to do it later, occasionally glancing at the hallway, waiting patiently. Thirty minutes later, right as Jon had moved the dirty dishes to the sink and was washing his hands, he heard the bedroom door click open and the familiar sound of Damian shuffling down the hallway in his socks. When the footsteps stopped and Jon could feel Damian's stare on his back, he looked back, a smile on his face.
"Yes?" Jon asked, smile widening as Damian shifted from foot to foot, both hands in fists at his side. He wasn't making eye contact, his face angled to the countertop at Jon's side. At his feet, Alfred was weaving back and forth, rubbing her cheek all over Damian's pajama pants.
Damian didn't speak for a moment, and Jon could see as he fought back his own pride, his cheeks lightly flushing. "Would you come lay down with me…?" He asked after a long moment, voice quiet.
Jon's heart melted. He finished drying his hands and then tossed the dish towel onto the counter, stepping over to Damian. "Of course I will." Jon ran a hand down Damian's back, turning him around to face the hallway once more. Gently, Jon began guiding Damian back to the master bedroom, only pausing to scoop Alfred up when she kept walking between Damian's legs. As Damian shambled along, Jon couldn't help but run his nose through Damian's hair, breathing in his scent. Jon had adored Damian's butterscotch scent since he had met him, the brown sugar and sweetness of the vanilla always so alluring. But now, the butterscotch was accompanied by the scent of milk, evidence of the tiny puppy Damian had been growing for months now.
Jon inhaled another lungful, chuckling when Damian swatted up at him with a mumbled stop it. The two entered the bedroom, and Jon walked behind Damian, following him to his side of the bed. While Damian moved around blankets, preparing his place in bed, Jon loosened his grip on Alfred, letting the small tuxedo cat jump from his arms and walk to the end of the bed to wait for her owner to settle in.
Damian glanced back at Jon, and a moment later, Jon was supporting Damian as he climbed up onto the bed, helping him sit comfortably enough to begin rearranging his blankets and pillows. Jon rounded the bed, hopping up to join Damian, pulling the comforter back to get underneath. Jon fondly watched Damian as he moved around blankets and himself until he was lying on his side, his back towards Jon and a pillow nestled under his stomach. Like every night, Jon shuffled closer, pulling Damian back against his chest and draping an arm around him.
Jon pressed a kiss onto the back of Damian's head, moving it back when Damian turned to look at him. Jon frowned at the glassy sheen, a question already on his tongue before Damian spoke softly speaking, interrupting him. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to get angry."
"Don't apologize," Jon said, kissing Damian's temple. "You never have to apologize. I wasn't upset; I was just waiting for you to come get me."
Damian's lips faintly twitched. "You knew I would."
"Yeah, well, you always do," Jon said softly, his head dropping down onto his pillow. Damian gave a short huff and kicked weakly at Jon. "I hate you." He mumbled, raising a hand for Alfred, who had left her perch at the foot of the bed, to nose against.
"Well, I love you." Jon breathed out, grinning when Damian leaned back into him.
"I love you too. And the baby." Damian shifted again, getting himself comfortable and pulling the blanket higher up on his shoulder. Beside him, having settled into a small loaf, Alfred let out a short meow. Damian stroked down her back with a tiny laugh. "Yes. And I love you too. Much more than that one." He gestured back at Jon.
Jon laughed, the sound rumbling through him. He pressed his face into the back of Damian's neck. He tightened his arms, careful to avoid the swell of his mate's stomach, and pulled Damian impossibly closer. "I can't believe you love that monster more than me. I sure as hell wasn't the one who tore up that rug your mother had imported for you."
Damian snorted. "That's exactly why I love her more than you. Had you any sense, you'd have lasered that dreaded thing the second it arrived. I'm still not sure what Mother was thinking."
Jon snorted. He still believed wholeheartedly that Damian's face when he'd finally unrolled that rug was one of the funniest things Jon had ever seen. Jon had thought he'd seen all of Damian's facial expressions, but nothing had prepared him for the dawning disgust and horror that had appeared when that hideous rug was in full view.
"Don't worry. I've gotten over it. I knew you loved her more than me when you decided to name our son after her." Jon said happily, reaching past Damian to pet a finger down Alfred's nose.
Damian's hands stilled on Alfred, and his head turned slightly to give Jon an unimpressed side-eye. "He is not named after my cat. He's named after my Grandfather."
"Mhm." Jon pressed a kiss to Damian's shoulder. "And that's definitely why you chose that name, I'm sure. Not that you lack creativity or anything. Sort of a one-trick-pony thing you have goin' on, huh, babe?"
Damian made an offended noise. "I am not a one-trick-pony."
"A man named Alfred gifts you a cat, and you name the cat Alfred? No Mittens? Or Oreo? And now, you're having a baby, and you've once again landed on Alfred?" Jon let out a teasing laugh. "Sounds like a one trick-pony-to me."
Damian let out another huff, though Jon could hear the smile in it. He shoved an elbow back into Jon's ribs. "If you keep talking instead of letting me sleep, I'll name the baby Mittens, just for you."
Jon let out a loud laugh, gasping in mock surprise. "Dames! You'd do that for me!? I knew you loved me!"
Damian only shook his head, a wide smile on his face. After Jon had finished his laughter, he settled down, his hand drifting up and down Damian's arm, the pads of his fingers running up and down his husband's skin. Damian's eyes had closed, though Jon could tell he wasn't asleep just yet. So, careful not to jostle him any, Jon kissed Damian's shoulder again, breathing in his scent. "I love you," Jon whispered.
"I love you too," Damian mumbled back, his lips twitching into a smile.