Chapter Text
The studio where they have been called to record the cast interview is spacious and well illuminated, with staff members fretting all around as Ivan and Till make their entrance with mics and hair in place.
Hyuna is the first to spot them from where two large couches and a comfy-looking armchair decorate the makeshift living room built for the show. Beside her, dressed in elegant clothes, Sua and Luka sit and chat amiably, while Mizi is striking a conversation with a tall brunette in high heels, a clipboard tucked under her arm and a vibrant expression that matches the pink-haired girl’s energy.
“You made it!” Hyuna beams, meeting them halfway. “Was there traffic?”
“Quite,” Ivan replies, adjusting the hem of his blazer. “We left with enough time to spare, but it didn’t help. I think Till would have started reviewing his lines for the next project out of habit if he weren’t napping.”
Hyuna laughs, grey eyes twinkling as she greets Till with a light tap on his shoulder. There is a tired gleam in teal irises when he reciprocates with a nod and a small smile, one that lingers even when Till meets Ivan’s gaze and his expression grows fondly exasperated.
The older actor rolls his eyes, lightly elbowing Ivan’s side. “…I am fine. You worry too much.”
Ivan doesn’t think something like too much exists when it comes to the love of his life, but there is little he wouldn’t do for his mate, even let him believe that he is right when Ivan’s heart still indulges on those thoughts.
He knows how Till gets when he starts working on a new project – he always has to make sure Till is eating plenty and at the right times and remembers to sleep the appropriate amount of hours, otherwise Ivan would find him starving and kept awake by pins holding his eyes open as he reads scripts and makes research. He had wanted to reschedule the interview tonight to make Till rest, but Till insisted he’d be alright after a nap, and all Ivan can do is follow him and resist the temptation to cradle him against his chest.
The two of them reach the couches and they all smile in greetings, happy to be together again after more than a year spent on different projects and months since their last get-together. Ivan can tell Till is glad everyone is wearing scent-masking patches – the flavours lingering in the air already making his omegan nose twitch visibly, creasing cutely as he settles on the couch between him and Luka.
When the staff gives them the signal and the cameras start rolling, the interviewer thanks them with an elegant smile and asks the group to introduce themselves, charming the cast and the audience in the studio with her playful antics.
“It’s been a year and a half since the last episode of ALNST Project aired and almost six months since we saw you all in the show OFF THE RECORD. You all look amazing, by the way. Is fame treating you well?”
“We manage,” Mizi cackles, twirling the lose ends of her pink hair around her finger. “Although I do miss the days when we could go out without people trying to sneak photos of us through café windows.”
The atmosphere is light-hearted, and even Till visibly relaxes beside Ivan as he transforms for the public – Ivan reads his mate’s body like he would his favourite book, sees his shoulders untense, the line of his lips turn upward in a more natural display, the crease between his brows become less marked. He doesn’t need to guess Till’s emotions from his scent, now thoroughly hidden by the wide, elegant choker sitting around his neck – officially a scent-blocker, but Ivan knows it’s also there to hide the mark he left on Till’s skin.
For the evening, he asked Ivan not to scent him too much, not even as a means of comfort, to avoid possible nuisances around their secret relationship, but to the younger actor’s delight, the bond makes it impossible to completely wipe his fragrance from Till’s delectable flesh, and he takes advantage of a funny questions made to him by the interviewer to let go of a conscious grin – an unbridled happiness brought to him only by the knowledge that he and Till belong to each other.
“I heard the boys also have new projects in their hands! Till, what about you?”
The man nods, venturing into a tentative, spoiler-free recount of his latest offer.
There is a particular spark to him tonight, one that prevents Ivan from averting his black, eternally charmed eyes off him. Till is dressed in a dark, well-fitted ensemble that contrasts beautifully with his pale skin, the collar of his shirt slightly loosened as if to accommodate the heat of the lights. His silver hair, soft and slightly tousled from the stylist’s touch, catches the glow of the set, a few strands falling over his forehead in a way that makes Ivan’s fingers twitch with the urge to brush them aside, to feel their familiar consistency between his fingers.
It’s always hard for him to maintain distance from Till, but particularly when he is so magnetic and radiant with his tired, passionate teal eyes focused on work, the delicate curve of his jaw shifting ever so slightly when he tilts his head to listen, lips parting just enough to breathe in before answering. That is why Ivan didn’t push it when Till insisted he was fine and could make it to the interview. Carefully, making it look as casual as he can, he brushes his knee with Till, wishing he could just bathe in his scent and welcome the omega’s forehead against his neck.
Till barely twitches, but a minute later he gives a light shove to his knee in return.
“Having you here makes this evening so pleasant!” the interviewer says, clapping her hand. “We have one last question, sent by a lucky fan selected through our social media. Apparently, some people have commented on Luka and Till’s undeniable chemistry in OFF THE RECORD – which, we remind our audience, is the show dedicated to ALNST cast’s interactions. They are wondering if there might be something more!”
A few excited whispers raise from the audience in the studio, all eyes trailed on the two actors. On the same couch, Ivan keeps his expression smooth, but his fingers twitch where they rest on his knee, and for a split second, he knows his dark gaze sharpens – flicks toward Till on reflex, spurred by a blinding, alphan need to claim that takes Ivan by surprise. Not for its presence, for his feelings toward the omega are seldom mellow and still like lake waters, but for its sudden intensity, crushing over him like tidal waves during a storm.
His control sways, teeth gritting. All he can do is freeze on the spot, inhale deeply, subconsciously looking for the comforting fragrance of lavender and dark vanilla – instead, he alarmingly smells light whiffs of his own scent escaping the patches he placed on his neck before heading out. He catches himself, though, a polite, detached smile masking the sweat trickling down his neck under the artificial lights of the studio.
Despite the tumultuous thoughts battling in his head, he still hears Till clarify, “We are colleagues and good friends,” ever composed, merely blinking at the insinuation – perfect and professional with an ease Ivan is still far from achieving. “Luka and I worked together for months, so it’s natural to develop a good dynamic,” he adds evenly, his tone carefully casual but distant, as if the idea itself were a mere afterthought.
Beside him, on the other side, unbeknownst to Ivan’s inner turmoil, Luka lets out a soft chuckle, effortlessly charming the audience with his ex-idol-like demeanour. “I mean, I did say once, after our round, that if Till ever needed a mate, I’d volunteer. But unfortunately for me, he has got standards.” He sighs with practiced hints of drama, placing a hand over his heart. “Unattainable, as always.”
The audience laughs, eating up the merry banter, and Ivan forces out a small chuckle to play along. His teeth clench again behind closed lips – he is quite sure not even his decent actor skills can make the smile he is wearing reach his eyes, and something possessive and restless stays coiling tight in his chest well beyond the end of the interview.
The sound of the door closing behind them echoes in the silent apartment. Till braces his weight against the wall as he toes off his shoes with a relieved sigh, all the while eyeing Ivan as the younger actor turns on the lights of their apartment and takes off his jacket.
He is irked. Till can say so easily – all the question about a possible relationship between Till and Luka has been circling in Ivan’s head and souring his mood and scent, citrus hues curling in sour, acidic whiffs through his scent patches. It makes Till slightly nauseous and apprehensive, a state he hadn’t foreseen when he had envisioned this evening.
“Are you still thinking about that?”
Ivan looks at him with a pout. The superficial and vaguely adorable demonstration of irritation does nothing to dilute the fiercer emotions Ivan tries to suppress in vain. He has never been good at it – like the time he lost a role to another rookie and Till found out immediately, or back when Till took forever to save his number in his contacts, forcing Ivan to suffer through weeks of seeing himself listed as just ‘Ivan’ until the younger actor asked for it himself.
Luckily, Ivan knows not to persist with his mutism, face immediately falling into more genuine dejectedness. “How can I not? I don’t understand, does Luka really seem the most obvious choice for gossiping about you? If not me, why not… not… Sua-sunbae? Or Mizi?!”
“Probably because I tend to keep my distance from them?”
“You don’t particular linger around other people,” Ivan argues, letting his jackets fall on the couch. “But what about us? We are always close! Our characters are paired together! And we were also sitting together during the interview!”
“Because of our characters?”
“Yes, but–”
Till draws nearer, tapping on his cheek, yet Ivan’s expression just creases harder. He sighs and tilts his head up, opens toward Ivan, offering the comfort of his body. He nuzzles their noses together, letting their scents mingle in familiar tones of citrus and lavender to calm Ivan down, all the while leaning into him to put a bit of his weight on the bulkier man.
Ivan welcomes him in his arms eagerly, hands lightly mapping the curve of his back, drawing gentle squiggles against his waist and shoulder blades, as if soothing an ache Till hasn’t voiced aloud. His whole body sags, yields, folds around Ivan like branches revived by the spring breeze, rooting Till in place.
More than the four walls of their apartment, it’s in the warmth that bears Ivan’s scent that Till has found his home.
“Sunbae…”
“Why do you always revert back to that title when you are troubled?”
“You know I love to call you like this.” A kiss is pressed on Till’s neck, under the chocker, right where the curve of it meets his nape, the covered spot marred by the deep bitemark Ivan imprinted on him a year after they became a couple. “I can’t believe people haven’t caught on. We are discreet, sure, but I don’t always stop myself from hovering around you.”
“I think people noticed that,” Till comments, huffing a laugh on Ivan’s collarbone. “It’s me reciprocating that they are missing.”
“Sunbae is a talented actor,” Ivan grumbles against his skin, stepping forward slowly. Till stumbles, held steady by the arms circling his waist, until his back touches the nearest wall. “Though it hurts me how good you are at hiding this.”
So he says, yet he is smirking, and Till knows it’s not real hurt that he is talking about. Not even Till thinks himself so skilled that he can mask the visceral need permeating him when he catches whiffs of citrus and earthy musk, nor the melting of his bones and breath when Ivan so much as looks at him when many eyes surround them. People just see what they want to see, apparently.
Besides, they have many things to worry about – their careers, their safety, their future income and stability, all matters Till can’t help but account for, that he gradually wishes to secure before pushing their relationship to the next step. Wished, at least, when he thought they had more time to plan things slowly. Now, however…
Ivan licks right around his glands and Till whimpers, mollified, abashedly enchanted by images of a bigger, noisier house, a band of silver on both his and Ivan’s ring fingers. “Till. You smell insanely good tonight.”
Enamoured, Till breaths, then pushes him back – his words a reminder of his previous plans for the night. “I do?”
“Yes. Your scent is stronger,” he replies, eyebrows wrinkling as he struggles to think. “You shouldn’t be close to your heat, though. Maybe you should go for a check-up? I can come with you.”
“No need. I already had one.”
Ivan blinks. “What? When? Why? Are you ill?” He grows alarmed in seconds, gently gripping his face and hip to tug him closer, searching for something that cannot be seen so easily, especially if he is this worked up.
Till snorts. “Calm down. I’m fine. I was just… feeling unwell.”
“Let me see. Where does it hurt?” Ivan insists, cradling Till close with utmost care.
“Nothing hurts.” Faked annoyance matters Till’s face. He doesn’t bat Ivan’s searching hands like he’d usually do – lets him brush and pat and dab for a while in a not so rare fit of generosity. “I only had a bit of a light ache in my upper body.”
“Where?”
Till grabs Ivan’s hand, feeling slightly out of breath for the anticipation, and puts it on his belly. “Here.”
There is a distinct moment, after a few instants of confusion pass, when Ivan’s face halts and abandons his half alarmed half confused expression and focuses razor-like on the spot where his palm touches Till.
The older actor can see his brain cogs turning sluggishly, almost audibly, as his expression opens – cheeks lifting, lips parting, eyes widening in that particular, silly way he does when he is trying to process too much at once, chasing thoughts that keep slipping through his fingers like sand.
In a few words, Ivan stops functioning. He gapes, blinks repeatedly, fingers flexing on Till’s abdomen for a prolonged minute, the longest Till ever experienced.
Then.
“Belly. Stronger smell.”
Till nods, hand lightly brushing Ivan’s in comfort as the young man tiptoes toward the most reasonable conclusion.
“You… You have been more fatigued than usual in the last week.”
Again, Till signs that he is right, playing with his cuff absentmindedly.
“Till.”
“Mh?”
Ivan gasps. Does he have to be this dramatic? Till thinks, feeling himself starting to blush, eyebrows furrowing. “Speak, would you? Do I have to do everything?”
“Sorry. I– You– Sunbae,” he tries and tries, his other hand pointing at Till, then at himself, “did I put a baby in you?” He asks so stuttering. Cute.
“That's what the doctor said.”
Ivan wobbles, black irises quivering all over Till, clearly too stunned to add anything else. A moment later, he falls on his knees.
It happens so quickly that Till barely manages to react within the next few seconds. One moment Ivan is there, looking at him with wide black eyes brimming with wet, glassy wonder, like he can’t decide whether to cry or laugh, the next he is staring at the wall behind the spot where he stood before, with the corkboard full of paper souvenirs and post its.
Till tries to crouch down immediately, going for Ivan’s shoulders, but he finds himself surrounded by arms that hang tightly around his waist. “Are you okay?! Ivan?”
There is no immediate response. Ivan takes his wandering hands, presses a long, reverent, heartfelt kiss to both his open palms, then dips his head against his lap, nuzzling gently, intensely, like he means to ground himself within Till.
Mumbles, “A baby…” under his breath a couple of times, as if drugged or in trance. Ivan pinches his own thigh, staring at his hand as if it’s the biggest mystery in the universe, and Till would chuckle at the display if he wasn’t currently choking on his rabid pulse.
It takes his fingers threading through Ivan’s hair to make the alpha snap back to himself.
He tenderly pulls Till in, onto his lap, one arm snug around his thin waist and the other hooked beneath his thighs. Till yelps, letting himself be moved, his legs spreading instinctively to settle around Ivan, craving the same closeness that draws him in like a powerful magnet.
“You are pregnant.” His voice cracks around the edges.
“I am pregnant,” Till confirms softly, nail scratching the button of Ivan’s shirt. They are still wearing their suits, constricting their movements even as they tug each other closer, but despite the discomfort of tight fabric pressing between them, Till isn’t ready to break the spell of this delicate moment.
“How?”
He looks up into black irises with sceptical eyes, one brow raising. “You are 25, Ivan, and you made extensively clear you know how babies are made.” His tone sounds teasing, bashful if someone were to account for the dusting pink on his cheekbones, but he can’t help the light sense of apprehension swirling in his stomach. Ivan is still wearing his scent-blockers, and even if what little leaks out doesn’t smell of disappointment, it’s hard to determine the specific hue. Not to mention Till is tired, still irked by how the interview ended – tints of his mate’s sour smell still lingering under his nose from before, the memory tangible in Till’s nostrils.
Since he found out about the pregnancy, there has never been a moment where Till thought Ivan would be anything but ecstatic – all the times his younger mate whispered about pumping him full with his seed, wanting it to grow into a baby that could be proof and witness or their love, murmuring about his belly distending and growing and swelling full… The reminder of his passionate voice colours his mind with reassurance and his face with a red, perpetual blush, depriving him of the fear of rejection or a sudden change of heart.
Now, though, he feels like he didn’t consider the most obvious, practical problems. Maybe he took it too lightly? Maybe Ivan wants to but isn’t ready and Till extrapolated promises of a life together from dirty talk and their many moments of passion?
Till leans in, searching for solace in the crook of Ivan’s neck. The alpha breaths, finally takes his own patch away to give Till more access to his glands, as if reading his mate’s mind, and the older actor slumps in relief at the overwhelming sense of euphoria and bliss curling around him like the warmest, most heavenly of the embraces.
He snuggles against him, sensing Ivan’s temperature rise, the blend of citrus and earth getting stronger. “Where did your eloquence go? You are quiet.”
“All the words passing through my mind seem completely inadequate to describe how I feel,” he explains, wrists and neck rubbing all over Till as he aggressively scent marks him in a spontaneous fit of territoriality and desperate veneration. “You give me joy just by breathing, just by leaving your digital imprints on my skin, but right now I could implode with it all.”
Ivan is hard, Till can feel it against the cleft of his backside, but the alpha doesn’t rut up in search of friction. His nose grazes insistently against the choker, probably annoyed by the strip of leather keeping him from Till’s scent – snaggletooth catching on the edge before he lets out a low, frustrated sound and squeezes him tighter.
With a patient huff, Till pets his hair in reassurance, then swiftly removes the choker. Ivan moans, lost in his instinct in a rare lapse of control. He freely laps at the side of his throat, then bites down on the exact replica of his dental arch. A whimper leaves Till’s throat, too tired to truly get hard but equally aroused by Ivan’s ministrations.
They remain sitting in a daze, swaying and surging against each other with lips and murmurs and bathed breaths. Without his choker, Ivan must catch the wilting lavender notes of Till’s previous anxious fretting, because his body releases more calming pheromones and he says, “I’m sorry, did I worry you? Does Sunbae wish to punish me for showing something other than the sheer happiness I am feeling right now?” His tone his breathless and Till can sense him tremble against his body.
He chuckles, then pats his arm. “I want to change out of this suite, then I was hoping to cuddle you in bed. Okay?”
There is a blur of frantic movements as Ivan nods, then hugs him tightly, picks him up and stands, bolting toward their bedroom – all the while Till protests and tries hard not to laugh at these exaggerated antics and the flutter of warmth and affection threatening to split his heart in two.
Curious how electrifying love can be even in the gentlest moments – how Ivan’s hands, careful and unhurried, can strip him bare without ever making him feel exposed.
The younger actor lays him on the bed like he is made of glass, flushed in the face, eyes alight as he climbs after him and removes each item from Till’s body, brushing over bare skin and wrapping him in his pajama. Ivan lingers on his belly, tracing his navel with a yearning so intense it seeps into his scent – probably imagining the time when Till will swell and his palm will fit around the curve, though it may be Till projecting his latest dreams on this moment.
Ivan’s motions are slow, as if he is savouring the chance to take care of Till in a non-sexual context, as if dressing Till himself is some sacred ritual, and every protest dies on Till’s tongue. He knows he’ll probably regret not posing any sort of resistance to this treatment – that Ivan will take it as an invitation to do even more, given how often he seems to exceed the limits of what is considered normal, but apparently Till feels particularly weak to Ivan today.
His fingers press lightly against Till’s wrist, tracing circles over his pulse with lazy affection, grazing it with loyal teeth, akin a quiet claim.
A while later, finally, Till shifts, breaking the silence with a low tone. “Move a bit. I need to take my contact lenses off.”
“Let me do it,” is the immediate, eager response.
There he is. “No need, I can do it myself.”
“You can't tire yourself, it may hurt the baby.”
Till exhales, unsure if he should be entirely amused or partly miffed. “Ivan, I'm pretty sure I can walk and take my lenses off.”
“Of course you can, but why leave the comfort of our nest if I can take care of it?” Ivan insists, already reaching for Till’s face with the extreme delicacy, as if he were handling an ancient artifact. His thumbs hover near Till’s temples, hesitant yet determined, his breathing uneven. “You have been fatigued. How did I not notice?”
“I am always tired, Ivan.”
But Ivan is already spiralling, his expression shifting into pure devastation as he gently cups Till’s cheeks. “You have been tired for weeks, alone. And I just let you… carry things, get dressed, walk around, go to work like nothing was different.”
Till bats his eyelids slow, fondness well hidden behind an incensed roll of his eyes. “Because nothing is different, I didn’t lose muscle mass or suffer from low blood pressure. I’m pregnant,” he points out, ripping a small sigh out of a starry-eyed Ivan.
“But I should have noticed.” The younger actor presses their foreheads together, his voice thick with dramatic guilt. “I should have sensed it, should have smelled it the moment your body started changing–”
Patient but undeniably exhausted, Till pats his shoulder. “Okay, great alpha, reign in your instincts. Let me take my lenses off before I blink them into oblivion.”
Ivan’s mouth opens, closes, then he nods quickly. “Alright. But you can do it here, and I’ll hold the lens case.”
As Till sits up, Ivan does exactly that, cradling the tiny container in his palm like it holds the meaning of life. Till’s fingers disappear in Ivan’s mouth, slipping coated in saliva out of shimmering lips.
“So you don’t have to get up and rinse your hands before touching your eyeball,” Ivan offers, as if what he did is completely normal. In a way it is – Till doesn’t even flinch as he proceeds to remove his lenses with practiced, methodical motions and wipe the pads of his fingers on the cloth Ivan passes him.
By the time they completely settle in bed, Ivan is already lying under the blankets, arms spread, waiting. Till climbs in, slotting against him, letting their bodies align as easily as they always do. “No more dramatics tonight?”
Ivan hums, wrapping around him like ivy, palm immediately finding his belly – it feels natural, already, nothing short of exhilarating. “Depends. Can I start thinking about names?”
Till chuckles against his shoulder. “Go to sleep, Ivan.”
The next day, Ivan begins planning.
His laptop is on, resting on the low table in front of the couch, webpages on babies and indoors locations and bureaucratic documents on the desktop since six a.m. He has been looking up every omega pregnancy blog in existence – in the last few hours alone, Ivan bookmarked three smoothie recipes, a breathing technique and a page titled 50 Ways to Bond with Your Baby Before It’s Born. He had to abandon their bed because he didn’t want to light from the monitor to disturb Till’s sleep, and did so with an affectionate, delicate caress on his abdomen.
Keeping track of social media swiftly becomes another priority – he has never been one for Twitter or Instagram, but he makes two burner accounts to browse around and asks his agent to keep an eye on possible rumours – especially since their most recent interview is going to be released soon.
He cannot sleep, so he fills his time with thoughts, spreadsheets and research – because no way the deities of dreams and nightmares can keep him in their clutches when his reality is so much more colourful and terrifying and joyful than anything they can offer. A solid future with Till, the life that is growing inside him, under the palm of the hand he kept on Till all night – Ivan wants it all.
Which is why he takes a deep breath and balances a tray with Till’s favourite black tea and dry biscuits on his right arm, the omega’s stomach too sensitive in the morning for anything more complex. He enters their room with slow steps, reaching the side of the bed occupied by a mess of blankets and silver hair barely peeking out from under them. Freeing himself of the tray, he leans toward Till and watches.
Many are the time Ivan catches himself staring like this, even after two years and seven months spent as mates and one year and eight months going to bed and waking up by Till’s side each day. Not once has the fervent, visceral need to imprint himself in every pore and every nerve and every crevice of Till’s body and essence wavered. He wants to exist between his bones, be woven into his tendons and burn within him – nothing short of an eternal fire that now flames up for two, and Ivan will gladly be reduced to ashes.
He settles for kissing his brow, lingering on his temple, breathing him in. Absurd that he didn’t notice before – Till’s lavender and vanilla now laced with something new, a fresher, flowery undertone that makes his heart pound madly and saliva pool in his mouth.
“Till.”
They are going to have a baby.
Fingers trail inevitably toward Till’s belly, touch-starved after not even two hours spent in another room. Ivan has always appreciated both curves and plains gracing Till’s body, protruding bones and milky skin alike at the mercy of his teeth and lips, of his caress. No wonder lately he has been feeling more possessive and territorial, more on the edge with people hovering around Till – his alphan side on guard by grace of his instincts.
He opens his palm wide, feeling the heat of Till’s body through the blanket, and imagines it rounder, wider, gently pushing against Ivan’s touch. “Till, wake up.”
The older man mumbles, turns in his sleep, and Ivan reaches out with his other hand, tucking silver strands away from his face, thumb brushing against the delicate skin beneath his eye, impossibly endeared. Silence, coloured by gentle murmurs, lingers for a while as Ivan coaxes him awake, and Till blooms slowly, eyes blinking under a morning frown, shoulder sagging in warm relaxation.
“What time is it?” he asks, drowsy. Till is far from a morning person, clear in the way his eyelids drop again a second, head thumping back on the pillow.
“Almost eight. You have time before your shooting. I brought you breakfast.”
Air lazy exhale hums from Till’s mouth as he peeks with one eye. Another sigh, louder and gently demanding, and Ivan moves immediately, bracing against the headboard of their bed with a hand. Till encircles Ivan’s neck and lets Ivan drag him up into a sitting position – the younger actor loves every second of the way Till allows himself to be pampered in these cozy moments of half-consciousness, pleased scents enveloping both of them in the act.
He almost laughs at how Till visibly forces himself to stare at the tray. “Is that tea? No coffee?”
“You are pregnant,” Ivan points out against his ear, the novelty so sweet and pleasant on his tongue, he can’t help but state it aloud. “People online say you shouldn’t drink coffee, especially in the first trimester. It increases the risk of complications.”
Till weakly raises an eyebrow as Ivan sits back on the edge of the bed. “That’s quite specific,” he mumbles, followed by a quiet thank you when Ivan places the teacup on his hands. “Mmh. Did you make research while sleeping?”
A smirk tugs Ivan’s lips up, eyes shining with mischief. “I was too busy dreaming about Sunbae,” he flirts. Till snorts into the cup before drinking. “But I’ve been awake for a while, so I started looking up a few things online,” he explains. “Tea is also good for nausea.”
Till nods with steady, absentminded motions, steam curling around his cheeks, but there is something like a slight pout on his lips, moist with tea and saliva, that makes Ivan want to devour him. His cannibalistic instincts are even harder to control, now that Till is carrying his child – his child. Good thing he also wants Till alive and stubborn beside him just as much as he desires to make him a permanent part of his carnal vessel.
Ivan crawls on his side of the bed, laying his head on Till’s welcoming thighs and hugging his waist. He noses the shirt out of his way as Till huffs around a biscuit, lips landing on the naked, warm skin underneath, spreading kisses on his venter – his hand splaying over the familiar dip of his hips and lower back, thumbs tracing slow, idle circles all over.
During their most intimate moments, Ivan has often caught himself staring at the lovely curve Till’s belly does when he bends him in half and buries himself deep inside him, how it puffs up in the shape of his cock and makes him almost come instantly the times Till feels particularly bold and caresses him from the outside, pressing to make Ivan go mad and deliver rougher thrusts. The prospect of seeing Till swell with his baby, much rounder, much bigger, is so dazing that it has him harden just by sheer imagination.
“Till.”
“Mh.” The low, slurping noise from Till drinking does not help with the raw hunger simmering under Ivan’s skin.
“Your belly will swell.”
He can tell Till is flustered when he stops drinking but doesn’t immediately lower the cup back onto the tray, subtly clearing his throat. “That's what usually happens during pregnancy.” His voice is light, but the way his lips subsequently press together gives away the quiet smile he’s trying to suppress.
Ivan beams at the softness of this moment, at the giddy happiness brimming into their every gesture. “I made it happen.”
Till lowers the cup, rubbing the heel of his hand against one eye as he puts it back on the tray. “I’m pretty sure it was a joint effort?”
Ivan moans against his pajama, lewd imagines spreading in his brain at the words joint effort, but does nothing more than that. His hands remain where they are, making no move to wander under the fabric – he could, and there are good chances that Till would let him, but somehow, this moment feels too delicate to shatter with his usual hunger.
Till scratches his hair, tempting Ivan further, the action enough to make him melt. Everything about him, so spontaneous and somnolent and unguarded, is devastating. A few moments later, he says, “Talk. What is it?”
“What do you mean?” Ivan asks casually.
“You would be all over me by now, yet you are content with hugging. It’s strange. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Ivan feigns innocence, tilting his head to spy him with one eye. The older actor just looks at him with a knowing gaze, one that speaks of experience in Ivan antics, so he relates his research and considerations, starting with a, “I have come to the conclusion that we need a new house.”
The point is, Ivan did a lot of thinking. After the absolute happiness the news gave him, his pragmatic side kicked in. Neither he nor Till lack jobs, and Ivan has enough money saved up that, if they need to buy a bigger house in a better part of the city – one with security, placed in a good neighbourhood, with schools and supermarkets all close by –, doing so will be possible with a reasonable number of instalments.
“I have savings as well,” Till reminds him, following his line of thoughts as he pops another biscuit in his mouth. “And we’d… need to decide what to do with this place.”
Ivan peppers more kisses on Till’s belly, unable to contain himself. “The rental contract for the apartment will expire in a few months, we can plan the rest of our lives accordingly.”
“Great. We’ll drown under documents before this baby is even born,” Till groans.
“Don’t worry, I’ll perform CPR on you if it happens and take care of everything you find tedious.” As much as he enjoys the whole variety of Till’s most suffering and complicated expressions, he’ll probably have to tone down during the pregnancy.
Every time Till laughs, Ivan gets a bit lost in contemplation, and his thoughts about their future become dreamier, to the point that he has to mentally slap himself to stay lucid. He’d gladly take care of everything if it makes Till light up like this, let alone some bureaucratic baloneys.
“You really need to stop pampering me so much, idiot. First is breakfast in bed, then a new house. What’s next?”
Ivan swallows. Till is using the tone of when he intends to tease him and fully expects Ivan to either play along or jump him if the flow of the conversation takes a particular turn. Ironical that now, it’s more as if he unconsciously noticed something that has Ivan looking like Till hit a raw nerve.
His hand clutches the item in his pocket, feet shuffling on the mattress. “I have ulterior motives.”
“Now I recognize you.”
“It’s a request.”
“I think I know what it may be and no, Ivan, I won’t stay at home from tomorrow on.” Till cuts him off, barely sparing a glance downward as he picks up the teacup and a biscuit. “I plan to work until I can keep it hidden, to finish the project I have at least. Then we’ll see.”
Ivan pouts. He knows he can’t ask Till to just vanish from the public eye immediately and leave every single one of his necessities in Ivan’s hands, even if the thought is tempting. He wants Till cushioned, safe, untouched by stress, tucked away where no one can pry into their lives, but Till would never allow it.
“Sunbae knows me so well,” he murmurs, conceding the point with a small smirk against his hipbone. “That’s not what I wanted to ask, though.”
“But you were thinking about it.”
“You own each and every one of my thoughts, Sunbae.”
“It’s not a no. Why all this mystery, then? Are you going to make me beg?”
Ivan’s expression starts to morph into something quite specific, quite luscious, dark amusement curling at the edge of his lips, curving in that particular way Till has learned to recognize. He groans, slapping a hand onto Ivan’s face and pushing him back, a sneer wetting his palm. “Never mind, I didn’t say that.”
Ivan laughs, kissing the inside of Till’s arm and looking up as he slips the little box out of his pocket. He places it on his own forehead – probably looks ridiculous, but he’ll gladly subject himself to Till teasing for his entire life if it means he’ll get to call him his husband.
Right then, with the same ease he might use to ask him to pass the sugar, blood coursing through his veins in tidal waves, he says, “Let’s sign the papers that will bind us together for life.”
Silence. Ivan hears the biscuit fall from Till’s hand into the teacup. The latter disappears a moment later, clatters on the tray, and Ivan witnesses the exact moment teal eyes fix on the little box. They widen, grace and surprise, vibrant colour like the reflection of the sky on the ocean contrasting with the dark skin of his lower eyelids, with the tired lines of his face – a breathtaking sight.
Till stares, and Ivan feels a certain flustered, arousing embarrassment bubble up inside him under such an intense glance. “Just to be clear,” the older man says, stuttering on the rest of the sentence, “this is about marriage.”
“It is.”
“Ivan.” His name is breathed more than spoken, a warning wrapped in stunned disbelief. Till’s fingers hover over the box, but he doesn’t take it just yet. “You still have the absurd habit of rushing things when you are excited.”
“Only when it comes to Sunbae. Devoting my life to you is my highest aspiration.”
Teal eyes blink once, twice, as if processing, then Till exhales sharply, rubbing at his temple. “Just because… We can think about it after the baby is born, when things settle down and we have time to do it properly.”
Ivan’s breath hitches, heart thumps wildly against his ribs – not in disappointment, but at the sheer weight of the words he heard. “Is that a yes?”
There is a blush on Till’s face, so deep that it spills down his neck, warmth pooling beneath his skin, setting every nerve alight. He snatches the box up, bashful. “Did you think I’d say no?”
He surges up, claiming a ravenous kiss from Till’s lips. It tastes like tea and the promise of a future where their scents will be forever a single, delectable fragrance.
“Not exactly.” Ivan exhales on his mouth, eyes fixed on Till with that unsettling intensity he always has when it comes to his mate. “But waiting is not practical.” He leans in, fervent eyes locked onto his. “I read that having the paperwork in order makes everything easier – hospital documents, legal rights. We can sign the papers and register the marriage for now, decide later how to break it up to the media, figure out the rest in our own time.”
“You sound like my manager.” Till’s voice is light, a bit hoarse, but his eyes don’t quite match the humour in his tone. “I just hope you are not so into it that you put your own wishes and ambitions on hold for me.”
On hold? Ivan wonders if he ever showed Till anything less the joy by his side – then he reboots and remembers it’s Till he is talking about, stoic but caring, reaching out to him the same way Ivan constantly realizes that he will probably never be able to convey how vast his devotion is. Relished in the idea that he has no shortage of time to work on that.
He clicks the little box open, luring Till’s eyes over its content. The ring is a simple silver band with a black vine-like design – inside, the engraving of their names, waiting to be joined by the date of their wedding.
“I bought this ring for you when we got together.” His voice is steady, resolute, pouring all his most genuine thoughts and emotions into his words. “In my mind I married you every day and every night spent at your side. As much as I care about my career and have goals to reach, I am devoted to you.”
How else can he convey that the wishes and ambitions Till talks about all revolve around the man sitting on their bed with his child in his womb?
A wet cackle plays on Till’s lips as he whispers, “Then why aren’t you claiming your kiss and putting this ring on me?”
Ivan scrambles up and would have knocked Till back if he wasn’t already resting his back against the headboard. The ring trembles as Ivan slips it onto Till’s finger – a perfect fit, the result of countless, hushed moments spent measuring, ensuring it would nestle flawlessly in its rightful place for the day he’d finally gather the courage to ask.
He descends on Till with the same impetus Till drags him down, a kiss like all the others they have exchanged – each a promise, a claim, a lock on their heart, yet the most liberating act.
There has never been a casual touch between them, not even when their first kiss was meant for the stage, for characters other than themselves. Even now, bodies mapped by heart under resolute palms, Ivan shakes as Till opens, pliant and flushed, urging him on with hands and tongue, gripping him tighter, pulling him closer. And Ivan falls, falls, falls, irrevocably, groaning when Till’s fingers find the scalding flesh beneath his shirt. He prays that touch never ceases, never stops burning him, searing into the very marrow of his being – his body, fallaciously mortal, nothing more than a vessel for a love that has a divine being as its recipient.
They separate after an immeasurable stretch of time. Ivan is crowding him against the backrest, wrist dancing over Till’s still flat belly, scent-marking it idly.
“I have the weekend free, so we can start browsing for some houses.” Till exhales on Ivan’s other palm nuzzling his face, eyes twinkling. “I think we should go for a place with at least two floors and a few extra rooms.”
“We’ll need help to clean all that every week,” Ivan points out.
“It’s better than having to buy a bigger one later. We’ll need the space for the future.”
“The–” Ivan starts, face snapping back to Till’s face, swallowing hard as the meaning settles in. “The future. As in, other kids? Many other kids.”
“Weren’t you the one boasting about wanting an entire football team as–”
Ivan is on him before Till can finish the sentence.