Pen doesn’t talk to him for days. Almost aborts it anyway, in Ambrose’s sleep. It’s not like he could stop him. Would have any legal recourse. Ambry sleeps curled up, curled around his belly. Seeing him like that, hearing him whimper when Pen reaches to touch it—it makes him stop. Pull the blanket up over him instead and go cry in his own bed.

Ambrose hasn't liked being touched since his... encounter. That's what he called it. And spoiled, self-centered, angrily jealous pen thinks him cruel for it. So upset over the baby in him that he willfully ignores everything else Ambry didn't say it wasn't consensual, but Pen could quite figure it out if he tried. He half does, can certainly tell something upset him. Orders him explain, in the morning, demanding to know why and how

“I didn't want it.” Is the first Ambry says.

“Then let me get rid of it!”

“No! Not another one!”

And everything crumbles. “Another one?”

“I was only little!”

“Wh—? Ambry?”

“I was — eight, I think?”

“ Eight? But- how?”

“I was an early bloomer, I suppose.”

He shakes his head. “Even if you were, that shouldn’t have— no one has been able to carry naturally that easy. Not here.” The majority of the population may not be afflicted as he and the rest of the adepts, or the royal families are, but they’ve always been a sickly bunch. The whole lot.

“You think it was... unnatural?”

“I think whoever was cruel enough to press that upon you would have had no qualms nudging your body to fit their desires.”

“But... why? He didn't let me keep it.”

Pen gets very, very quiet for a moment. “Knowing someone is carrying something of yours. Being physically changed by it, by you, perhaps permanently… a form of ownership one cannot erase entirely… he wanted to hurt you.” And you would have died had you been made to deliver.

“It felt like little butterflies.”

“Butterflies?”

“When it moved, I suppose. I didn't understand.”

“If it upsets you so, why keep this one?”

“I wanted that one. There were so many reasons I couldn't have it.”

“Apart from your age?” His head cocks, far more curious than angry now.

“I was too young, too small. He was married.”

The rage begins boiling again, eye hardening. “He had a spouse and still felt the need to hurt you? I’ll rip him to pieces, I will.”

“Oh, Pen. It's alright.”

“It’s not. He hurt you, it’s not alright. You were not his to hurt!”

“He's dead now, Pen.”

“So, what! I’ll drag him back to make him suffer as he dies a thousandfold.”

“You don't want to.”

Arms cross, fixing Ambrose with an unamused expression. “I don’t think you have the authority to make that declaration.”

“Itwasyourfather.” He says, all in a rush. Can't ever keep a secret from Pen.

It was— it— blood rushes through his ears, stomach turning. “It was my…. He had no right!”

Ambrose somehow expected the yelling would be directed at him. “I was a little cavalier-in-training, in his house.”

“And you were mine!” He exclaims, wrath lashing about, alongside tendrils of magic lashing, unseen through the air. Ambrose winces quite visibly. “He had no right! You weren’t his! It wasn’t his compact!” Its easier, directing his rage that way, rather than admit the root cause.

“He said, while I was under his roof, I was his.”

“By that logic so was I! And he never— he-”

“He never touched you?” He sounds very concerned.

Pen shakes his head. “Not once.”

“Good. He had some decency at least.”

“Did…. Did mother ever try to stop him?”

“She never did.”

He nods, a little slow. More than a little hesitant. “I apologize for their abominable conduct. If you wish retribution I will do what I can, in any form.”

“I don't think there's much to be done.”

“Yes, well. If someone ever occurs to you, as- as reparation.”

“You're sweet.”

“It’s what you deserve. That never should have happened to you, especially not in this House.”

“It's over now. It's done.”

Tentatively, a hand reaches forward, barely brushing over Ambrose’s stomach. “But it’s not.”

He doesn't flinch from the touch this time. “There is that.”

“You’d not have… if Father hadn’t taken advantage.”

“I might have done differently.”

“You might have asked someone else. You didn’t need to go hunting for another child on the street corners.”

“Well, I wouldn't say I meant for that outcome. I was just drunk.”

“But… you won’t fix it? And you won’t let me take care of it. Ambry, I don’t understand. I don’t understand why your date would have stuck you with this burden either.”

“Oh, my dear, I wish it was a date.”

“But-? You said you were drunk. Why would you have been fucking anyone drunk if not a date?”

“Oh, you're so terribly sweet.”

Pen pouts at him, not amused. “I’m being laughed at, and I would like to know why.”

“I was forced, Pen.”

“Oh.” He deflates, eyes cutting away from Ambrose in embarrassment.

“It was some Cohort soldiers, their last day on the Seventh.”

“Do… do you know who? I’ll report them, the military police can…”

“I can give descriptions, if not names.”

“In- in the morning. We’ll make the authorities take down descriptions and— hell Ambry, I’ll kill them myself if nothing happens.”

“And I'll appreciate it.”

“And you’re certain you wish to keep it?” Pen can’t rip his eyes from the swell.

“I think I'd like it, having a child.”

I could have given you one. I would have given you one, he thinks, hand still resting on Ambry. “Then-” Pen swallows, heavy. “Then you’ll have one.”

“Thank you, Pen. I know it's a terrible distraction from my work.”

That makes him snort, trying not to laugh. “As if you have much of that anyway. If things get to be too much, I’ll simply hire in another maid. Or a cook, or whatever it is that we need to pick up the slack.”

“Oh, thank you. You're sweet to me.”

“You deserve sweetness, Amb. You always have.”

“I've been good for you, right?”

“You’ve been perfect.” Well, not perfect. Ambrose does an awful lot of fucking and sneaking off for that, but when he’s with Pen, he’s perfect. Penthos wouldn’t have him differently.

“You won't throw me out for this?”

“Would I tear out a lung to throw away?”

“Many an adept would.”

“Ambrose Epta. You have been mine since we were adolescents. Been promised mine since far younger than that. It’s frankly insulting you would think so low of me, that I would toss you out over something this- this trivial. You’re having a baby, not committing treason.”

Ambrose breathes a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Slowly, Penthos slides his hands to clasp with Ambry’s. “You have been doomed to my side since the day you walked in on me, bleeding from a half rotting eye, and agreed that it was beautiful. You don’t need to thank me. Especially seeing as I have no clue how to take care of a babe.”

“Oh, it won't fall to you.”

“Then even less thanks would be needed, if any were demanded at all.”

“You've been decent to me.”

“I’ve tried. It seems the bar was below ground, though, with how father treated you.”

“In fact. You were set up for success.”

It hurts, knowing how poorly he could have treated him, and still be seen as decent. “That I was….”

“And you've done nothing but succeed.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel it,” he admits.

“Really?”

“I can’t exactly give you the career you deserve, nor the standing a similar job would give with, say, the Duchess. You’re a glorified babysitting caretaker, Amb. We both know it.”

“I'd rather be with you.”

“And I’m glad of it.”

“You can... I saw you wanting to touch. You may.”

Hands meet skin-warm fabric, marveling at the feel. “I’m a bit surprised you’d allow it. I’d have been afraid of it being taken with a touch.”

“You won't hurt me.”

“No. Not truly.” Never mind that he’d slapped Ambrose just days ago for daring to deny him that very act.

“Not without my say-so.”

“Exactly. You get the final say.” Another lie, especially in terms of necromancy being practiced and tested on Ambrose, often without warning or prior explanation.

“I don't mind it when you touch me.”

“Come here then.” Pen barely gives him a chance to breathe before pulling them together in a hug. Ambrose presses right to him. He gives himself a few moments just to bask in the warm scent of his Ambry, before speaking. “I’ll figure out what has to be done to give it the same protection you’re supposed to have. The same shielding of the Adrastis name. It’ll be part of the household, same as you are.”

“I wish it was yours.” Ambrose blurts out.

“I— what?” Penthos’s eyes go wide.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...”

“No. No you can’t say that and not explain.”

“It's just a, a thought I've had.”

“That you wish it was my baby?” It can’t be real, can it? That Ambrose has been thinking the same thing he has been?

“Oh, say it's hormones going to my head.”

“It… it could be. It could be mine. But you’d have to let me get rid of this one.”

“Would you give me one, if I did?”

Pen wets his lips, and nods. “Yes. If it’s what you really want, then yes.”

“It will hurt me.”

“It doesn’t have to. I can numb the pain. The physical pain, at least.”

“I was ill for days last time.”

“Did he- was it here at home?” He’s almost scared to ask.

He nods. “He told you I had a fever.”

“Oh! I remember that.” Penthos had amused himself that week by prodding at dead animals. The nurse had been busy with Ambrose, so he’d been free to get in the mud.

“I thought you might. I mean, I did end up taking a fever.”

“In any case, you’re no longer a child, and I can do better than father ever could. You won’t be sick again, not like that.”

“I'll let you do it if you promise me another.”

“I swear it. I’ll give you one as soon as it’s safe for you to have it.” Please, just let me clean them out of you.

“Next month. Promise.”

“I promise. Swear on the River. On our Lord Undying, kindly prince of death himself. I will give you a child.”

“Then do as you will.”

“Thank you…” his voice is a ghost, shaking and faint. He considers Ambrose for a bit, before resting a hand on his shoulder and pressing slightly. “Lie back for me and remove your trousers.”

He strips down to just his shirt and lies on the bed.

Hands rove over Ambrose’s stomach, feeling, considering. “My father, he did it from here, yes? Feeling up your stomach to remove it?”

“Yes. He must have been able to feel it moving. This one isn't moving yet.”

Pen nods, frowning. “I’m not going to do that. I won’t chance missing any of it. You’ll not get sick again.” His hand slides down, between Ambrose’s legs, and hesitates a moment. “You keep some form of lubrication in your room, where?”

“Nightstand. Top drawer.”

He grabs it, and slicks- well he slicks most of his hand, before sliding a finger into Ambrose. It's something Ambrose has dreamed of. In a different context.

“My father went the easy route. Quick, messy. I’m going more direct. I might have to open your cervix with flesh magic, but I will be making sure I get every speck of that fetus out of you.” A second finger slides in, and Pen begins stretching him.

It’s surprisingly easy, getting his cavalier open and pliant. Fingers three and four sliding in easy. “Mn, knuckles, Ambry. Deep breathes now. Don’t clench.”

He takes a deep breath and makes a great effort.

Pen presses forward, baring in with a push-turn, until his knuckles pass in as well, leaving only thumb outside. “Good boy. Keep breathing for me.”

It could be erotic. But it's not, not quite. A tad too clinical, at least for now.

“That’s it dear. I’m going to get you all clean, and you won’t need to worry about being sick.” A lover might have given more time to grow used to the current stretch. Penthos does not. Tucks his thumb in, and presses that forward too. And if that thumb brushes Ambrose’s clit on the way, well then that’s between Pen and his own shame.

Ambrose winces, though. Breathes shakily.

“Shh shh shhh it’s alright. We can take a minute.” He slathers more lube on his hand as well, figuring it can’t hurt.

Ambrose looks teary.

“Oh… oh Ambry… what’s wrong?”

“It's just hormones, I'm sure it is...”

“No. Tell the truth. What’s wrong? I can’t fix it if I don’t know.”

“I wish you were touching me like this for a different reason.”

Pen’s heart shatters. “I will. I’ll make you feel wonderful after.”

“Have you ever?”

He goes quite pink. “No but... well, I understand the basic mechanics.”

“I'm sure you'll be lovely at it.”

“I do certainly intend to try.”

“It's nice, that I'll be your first.”

“I ought to have been yours.” Even though they both know that never would have happened.

“You make me sorry I gave it away.”

He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to Ambrose’s lips. “It was bound to happen.”

“I was always yours. No matter what.”

“Mine in every possible way.” And he’ll leave a physical reminder to any other adept thinking to work on him.

“All yours.”

Penthos offers a few more minutes of cooing and sweet nothings, before sliding his hand further in. Marveling at how eagerly Ambry’s cunt swallows his hand, even for a medical procedure. The way Ambrose's eyes flutter shut is almost carnal.

“Such a good boy for me Ambrose. Letting me take care of you.” He twists his hand, knuckles dragging against sensitive inner buttons. Ambrose bites his lip. A touch harder, another drag, this time and Pen’s moving his hand in a sad parody of thrusts, needing to be deeper. “It’s alright Amb.”

“It scrapes a little...”

“What does, which part?” He’ll soothe it. Ease or numb the discomfort.

“Your nails.”

“Oh! Yes, I- I suppose they would. Apologies.” Not a ton he can do about the nails themselves, but… oh there’s an idea. Pen’s free hand comes to rest on his cavalier’s head, and his eyes close in focus. Finding the connection, plucking it, and reconnecting it directly to pleasure. A test, scraping gently, watching Amb’s face carefully.

Ambry's face screws in pleasure.

“Better?” Pen asks, hand still moving in him.

“Yes... doesn't hurt anymore.”

“Good! That’s good. Especially because this next bit might be a tad uncomfortable.” A warning, but not enough of one, fingers already brushing Ambrose’s cervix.

He does yelp.

“Oh I know, I know. It’s alright. Deep breathes for me, okay?”

Ambrose obeys, takes deep gasping breaths. Penthos braces them both, and pushes forward, fingertip pressing insistently at his passage. His cervix gives, not without struggle.

“Mn you’re tight, up here anyway.” Slowly, Pen tries to stretch him, to get it, him, to let more in. He needs to be able to reach Ambrose’s womb, after all. Slowly, Ambry lets him in.

A second finger attempts to join, and Penthos sighs. “You’re doing your best and it’s appreciated.” It’ll take too long though. He narrows his eyes and relaxes the muscle itself, making the whole thing essentially go limp. Pen slides in easily after that. Ambrose gasps at the feeling. “Far easier, yes? Now I can just…” Pen’s hand gets swallowed deeper, wriggling into his now lax and open cervix. “Slip right in.”

Ambrose arches his back, then fights himself down.

Once Penthos is fully in him, sunk into his cervix to the wrist, skinny arm disappearing into Ambry’s cunt, he takes a moment. Both to appreciate the image before him, and to refocus. Fingers sweeping his walls.

Ambrose's eyes are flickering, as if he's on the edge of consciousness.

“Oh dear, we can’t have that I’m afraid.” A touch, first to his head, then his heart, jolts Ambrose present. “I need you awake Bry. I’ll not risk you.”

“I don't know if I can...”

“You can, I know you can. Is it pain? Something else?”

“It's just... it's a lot.”

“I know dear, I’m sorry.” Pen kisses him again, apologetic and soft. “We can take a moment, if you need, right here, or I can do the rest.”

“Do the rest.” He says quickly.

“As you wish.” Power sparks to Penthos’s hand, closing around what would have grown into a baby. Clamping it off and sending a wave of magic out from the closed fist, melting away the rest. There’s no chance any of it gets left behind to cause illness. Ambrose shudders through it. There are tears spilling down his cheeks.

When Pen’s sure it’s all gone, he pulls his fist back out, one fast, smooth motion this time. “Do- did you want to keep it? I can preserve it in a jar if you desire.”

“No. Please don't make me see it.”

“I won’t. I swear I won’t.” A squeeze of his fist, and the fetus melts away to nothing. “I’ll need to go back in, reconnect everything, but I think you ought to rest first.” A silence, and then, softly, “I’m proud of you, Ambrose. You did so well for me.”

“Did I? I was good?”

“You were such a good boy. You did perfectly.” Another kiss, and Pen gently nudges his eyes shut. “Rest now, things will be better when you wake.”

He's quick to fall asleep. Penthos scrubs his hand clean of any trace of those wretches. There’ll be nothing in his house left of the men who hurt his Ambrose. When he returns to his sleeping cav, Pen decides to do the rest while he sleeps. Slipping back inside, doing one last sweep to be sure he hadn’t missed anything, and putting Ambry’s cervix back to rights. A slight flutter of nails against the inside of his cunt and then pulling back out. And then, of course, cleanup. Not really Pen’s job, but it seems cruel to have Ambrose clean up his own abortion.

He's sleeping, but he doesn't seem easy. Sniffling. Pen speeds through cleaning everything he can, and then crawls into bed with Ambrose, curling tight around him. “I’m sorry love. I am. But you’ll feel better when you wake, I’m sure.”

Ambrose nestles into him instinctively.

“I’ll be so gentle when I implant your new one. Nothing cruel like those wretches,” he coos, holding Ambrose with painful tenderness.

“You'll implant it?”

Penthos starts, blinking at Ambry. “I thought you still asleep love. But, yes. I swore I’d give you a baby, and I will.”

“Better than putting in a vat womb, I suppose.”

“I don’t go back on my promises, Ambry. I’m going to give you a baby. You, not a vat womb. It’s going to be yours.”

“You treat me lovely.”

“I try.” He presses a kiss to Ambrose’s cheek, smiling softly. “Give yourself some time to heal, to recuperate, and I’ll put the new one in.”

“A month.” He insists.

“A month,” Pen agrees. Privately, he wishes a bit longer, but there’s no real reason for it, beyond overprotectiveness.

“Thank you. You could've changed your mind.”

“And left you bereft? No. I gave my word, Ambry.”

“And I'll trust it.”

“I would hope so. Otherwise, there’s nothing holding you here, nor keeping us together.”

“There's plenty to bind me to you.”

“Mmh. A signed compact and, in a month, a baby.”

“And us.”

He tucks himself a little closer. “Yes, us. Always us.”

“There's no-one I'd rather have at my side.”

“I rather think it’s you at mine,” Pen snorts, laughing quietly.

“Ah, that's true. Here to defend you. No matter what.”

“And you’ve done such a good job of it, my dear Rose.”

“I'd give you anything. Give up anything for you. You saw.”

“I did. You were so good for me. Just perfect.”

“You don't have to be jealous now.”

Pen peeks out from under his lashes. “You won’t go out with anyone?”

“I haven't wanted to.”

“Then you won’t start it back up. You’re mine now love, in every way.”

“That doesn't sound half bad.”

“No, it shouldn’t be.” Ambrose will likely have to stay home for the latter bit of his pregnancy; it would be cruel to send him out on errands. The possessive, horrible part of Pen wants to lock them both in for the entire thing. Neither of them going beyond the property gates.

“You'll have some job keeping me from feeling flighty. But I think you're more than up to it.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of things we can find to do around here.” Penthos had found things to occupy himself within the property most of his life, there’s no reason Ambrose wouldn’t be amenable to at least some of them.

“Indeed. And things to teach you.”

A blush rises on him, tinting cheeks and ears pink. “Ah, yes. You had said so.”

“Got to teach you to please me.”

“I did say I’d make you feel lovely afterward, didn’t I….”

“You did; you did.”

The flush only grows. “Were… did you want, had you wished that to happen now?”

“Will you be gentle? My belly hurts a little.”

“Yes, yes of course. I wouldn’t dream of doing anything but.” A hand rubs gently over his stomach, chilled fingers massaging. “Are you sure you want it now though? Or- or like that? You’ve been through a difficult experience and—”

Pen nods, tugging him into a kiss, a bit messy—for inexperience if not heat—and quite languid. “That’s entirely alright with me, dear.”

Ambrose kisses his cheek after his lips.

“Everything at your pace. Everything as you want it.”

“I want to wait a few days. And then to devour you.”

He swallows, excited, but nervous. “I should very much enjoy being devoured by you, I think.”

“You will. I'll make it nice for you.”

“I thought I was meant to be doing that for you.”

“We both can.”