[Yami no Matsuei] "Unholy Spawn" (PG-13)
Aug. 24th, 2011 05:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mtxref_ficAuthor's Note: Written for "fic_promptly">'s Author's choice, author's choice, Mpreg. Tsuzuki/Muraki, and again, I humiliate Muraki. He deserves it.
He couldn't find Muraki in the room at the Ministry building where they'd been keeping him, but it wasn't like he could wander far, given the house arrest they'd put him under and the psychic tether they'd put on him to keep their prisoner from escaping.
Tsuzuki finally found him lounging on the patio, his feet up on a table, smoking a cigarette.
"What are you doing?" Tsuzuki demanded.
"Oh, merely taking in the fresh air on a lovely autumn day," Muraki replied, letting a plume of smoke trickle from his lips in a sigh.
"You know you can't do that in your condition," Tsuzuki snapped, plucking the cigarette from his fingers and flinging it to the cobbles.
Muraki merely chuckled. "I've limited myself to no more than two a day. For that matter, I've seen women give up cigarettes, caffeine and alcohol and then give birth to babies so large that I had to perform an emergency Cesarean section," he replied, glancing down at the gentle curve under the front of his trenchcoat.
"Well, I just want that kid to be born healthy," Tsuzuki argued, irritated with Muraki's flippancy, yet melting a bit. "I need you to stay healthy."
The pale man chuckled and reached up to run a hand along Tsuzuki's jaw. "You need me to stay healthy long enough to deliver the child safely and then to stand trial before the King of Hades. That might be the excuse you have, the convenient lie you tell yourself to deny what you really feel. Admit it: you're worried about your own offspring and the being who's carrying it, the fruit of our passion which we created during those three days we spent together in the bowels of the earth."
"Stop talking like that!" Tsuzuki snapped, slapping his hand away.
"The more you bluster and snap the more that I'm convinced otherwise," Muraki said, reaching up and taking Tsuzuki's hand by the wrist in a grip that could, if he willed it, crush his bones. Then he tenderly laid Tsuzuki's palm on his belly. "If I didn't really matter to you, you wouldn't be this upset."
He felt a flutter of movement under his hand, the child moving within his enemy's body. New life and he never thought, now that he was a Guardian of Death, that he could create new life. Tsuzuki couldn't help a gasp rising to his lips: was this a hand or a foot or an elbow moving under his hand?
"Admit it: you care for me. You care for us both, I and our offspring," Muraki murmured. "The blood of an angel mingled with the blood of a demon: I wonder which of us it will take after the most. I wonder which path it will take: the path of hypocrisy that you follow, or the path of honesty that I do."
"Yes, Muraki, you're right: I do care. I care enough to want to take care of our child and see that he doesn't end up as sick and insane as you are," Tsuzuki said, retracting his hand and glaring at the carrier of his child.
He couldn't find Muraki in the room at the Ministry building where they'd been keeping him, but it wasn't like he could wander far, given the house arrest they'd put him under and the psychic tether they'd put on him to keep their prisoner from escaping.
Tsuzuki finally found him lounging on the patio, his feet up on a table, smoking a cigarette.
"What are you doing?" Tsuzuki demanded.
"Oh, merely taking in the fresh air on a lovely autumn day," Muraki replied, letting a plume of smoke trickle from his lips in a sigh.
"You know you can't do that in your condition," Tsuzuki snapped, plucking the cigarette from his fingers and flinging it to the cobbles.
Muraki merely chuckled. "I've limited myself to no more than two a day. For that matter, I've seen women give up cigarettes, caffeine and alcohol and then give birth to babies so large that I had to perform an emergency Cesarean section," he replied, glancing down at the gentle curve under the front of his trenchcoat.
"Well, I just want that kid to be born healthy," Tsuzuki argued, irritated with Muraki's flippancy, yet melting a bit. "I need you to stay healthy."
The pale man chuckled and reached up to run a hand along Tsuzuki's jaw. "You need me to stay healthy long enough to deliver the child safely and then to stand trial before the King of Hades. That might be the excuse you have, the convenient lie you tell yourself to deny what you really feel. Admit it: you're worried about your own offspring and the being who's carrying it, the fruit of our passion which we created during those three days we spent together in the bowels of the earth."
"Stop talking like that!" Tsuzuki snapped, slapping his hand away.
"The more you bluster and snap the more that I'm convinced otherwise," Muraki said, reaching up and taking Tsuzuki's hand by the wrist in a grip that could, if he willed it, crush his bones. Then he tenderly laid Tsuzuki's palm on his belly. "If I didn't really matter to you, you wouldn't be this upset."
He felt a flutter of movement under his hand, the child moving within his enemy's body. New life and he never thought, now that he was a Guardian of Death, that he could create new life. Tsuzuki couldn't help a gasp rising to his lips: was this a hand or a foot or an elbow moving under his hand?
"Admit it: you care for me. You care for us both, I and our offspring," Muraki murmured. "The blood of an angel mingled with the blood of a demon: I wonder which of us it will take after the most. I wonder which path it will take: the path of hypocrisy that you follow, or the path of honesty that I do."
"Yes, Muraki, you're right: I do care. I care enough to want to take care of our child and see that he doesn't end up as sick and insane as you are," Tsuzuki said, retracting his hand and glaring at the carrier of his child.
