The room was still dark when the blanket and sheets were ripped from me, and the bed rocked so violently that I woke up in a panic, sure that the bedframe was collapsing. Footsteps bolted across the bedroom floor and the bedroom door was thrust open. Through the dark, I saw Robin dart down the hall and out of sight. Before I had time to process what was going on, I was on the move, too. I jumped out of bed and followed, overly aware of my pounding footsteps in the otherwise quiet condo.

“Robin?” I called out, unsure of where he’d gone. “Robin!”

A thud sounded in the bathroom, and I rushed toward it, praying that Robin hadn’t fainted.

He hadn’t—I found him on the bathroom floor, kneeling in front of the toilet. He’d been in such a hurry, he hadn’t even turned on the light. Fearing the worst, I dropped to my knees beside him and placed a comforting hand on his back. How long did food poisoning last? It pained me to see him suffer.

Robin’s whole body tensed, and his shoulder blades pinched together. He retched, cussed under his breath, then retched again.

“It’ll be okay,” I promised. “Get it out. You’ve got this.”

“I do… do not have this.” Robin spat to clear his mouth, then sat back on his haunches. His chest rose and fell heavily. “I am so far from having this it’s not funny. I feel awful.”

“Do you still think it’s food poisoning?” I asked.

Robin glared at me. Moonlight streamed through the small bathroom window, gleaming in his eyes. “Let me just consult the bacteria hanging out in my digestive tract. One sec. Sometimes it takes them a while to answer the phone.”

I rolled my eyes—a habit I’d started to pick up from my time with him. “I didn’t ask the question to antagonize you. I’m asking out of concern. If you think this is something bigger than food poisoning, I’ll bring you to the hospital.”

“I’m a jerk. I’m sorry.” Robin deflated. “I think I’m hangry again. Hangry, but too sick to eat. You didn’t deserve to be snapped at.”

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” I pressed. “I’ll take you right now. I’m worried about you.”

Robin shook his head. “The last thing I want is to sit in a waiting room for twelve hours while I feel like crap, only to be told to take a couple Peptos and head home. I’m fine.”

The response didn’t satisfy me. It had almost been twenty-four hours since Robin had eaten anything, and while he’d been drinking water, I was worried that he’d dehydrate himself. If a hospital wasn’t going to cut it, there were other ways to get him the care he needed. “What if I take you to see my personal physician?”

“It’s just food poisoning,” Robin mumbled. “I don’t see why you’re so worried about it.”

I rubbed his back. “I’m not worried about it—I’m worried about you. If you can’t hold anything down and you get dehydrated, then what?”

Robin looked at me blankly. “Then I guess I’ll be thirsty and grumpy. Thumpy. Thumpy and hangry.”

Through force of will alone, I managed not to laugh, but my throat clenched and convulsed, and I knew I was seconds away from losing it. I took a beat to regain my composure, then gave Robin as stern a look as I could muster. “Being thumpy will be the least of your problems. Dehydration can lead to serious health issues.”

“I can’t take you seriously when you use thumpy in a sentence.” Robin wilted to the side, resting his shoulder against the wall. “You’re not going to leave this alone, are you? You’re going to keep bugging me about it until I give in, even if I order you not to.”

“Probably,” I admitted.

Robin sighed. “How extremely unfair.”

“I know.”

“We could bypass the doctor visit entirely by picking up some Pepto. It’ll be, what, a couple bucks and half an hour?” Robin looked at me hopefully.

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“This blows.” The statement was complete, but the last syllable got cut off early. Pale, Robin lurched forward and hugged the toilet, retching again. It broke me to see him so miserable. “… and… and so do I, apparently. Fuck.”

“So you’ll let me make an appointment?”

“Yes,” Robin said without looking up. “Ugh. I feel like total shit.”

I squeezed his shoulder. “You won’t for long. I’m here now. You’ve spent so long taking care of others that it’s about time someone else took care of you.”

At ten that morning, we arrived at the private offices of Dr. Kalia Becker. Robin, who’d managed to sneak in a few more hours of sleep and had woken up feeling better, had argued with me the whole way there, but hadn’t ordered me to stop what I was doing. I took it to mean that he appreciated what I did, even if he didn’t think it was necessary.

“This is stupid,” Robin grumbled. We’d been brought back to the small examination room, and he’d seated himself on one of the chairs. I stood beside him, taking inventory of the posters on the wall. For the most part, they were medical diagrams of the human body—the throat, the brain, the hands—but there were a few about the spread of bacteria, and another few about the importance of proper sanitation. “Troy, I’ve been sick for less than a day. I know that you’re worried, but it’s not like I’m going to keel over. Sometimes, people get sick.”

“You were the one who gave me permission to make me the appointment,” I replied as I came to sit next to him. “If you were feeling sick enough earlier this morning to agree to it, then something’s going on. Humor me.”

Robin sighed. “I really should punish you, you know. You’re getting too comfortable with overstepping your boundaries.”

There wasn’t a trace of Master in his voice, so I doubted he meant it, even though it was true.

“I wonder what I should do to you…” Robin tilted his head back, a hint of a smile on his face. “Maybe I should strip you down and tie you up in front of the windows of your office—let the whole world see the great Troy Sullivan reduced to nothing more than a body. Or maybe, hmm… maybe that’s not enough.” A sly tone crept into his voice, and with his head still tilted back, he glanced at me. “I own you, you know. Every dollar, every inch of skin, every hair. I feel like lately, you’ve been forgetting that.” He ran a hand over my crotch, and my cock hardened at once, eager for his touch. “I should lock this up and throw away the key for… what? A week? Two?”

My pulse skyrocketed, and I pushed into his hand, wanting more. After the sweetness of last night, it was good to remember that Master still lived in Robin’s mind and was eager to come out to play.

“In fact,” Robin murmured. The more he spoke, the more he tended toward sultry tones. “I think, when we get home, I’m going to order you to sit next to me and watch while I shop for cock cages with your credit card… and maybe, if I see something else I like, I’ll add it to my cart, too. How many toys do you think I’ll find? With your cock in a cage, maybe I should put a plug in your ass, too—make you wear it to all your meetings. While I’m at it, I’ll get a little vibrator, slip it in there, and leave it buzzing. Mm, fuck, Troy…”

Aroused wasn’t the right word for what I felt—I was on goddamn fire. Heart pounding, pulse racing, I turned in my chair to face him, but before I could say anything, there was a knock on the door. I jumped and spun back around in my chair, hoping Dr. Becker wouldn’t notice my erection. My cheeks burned, and I was sure my face was flushed. Robin had to be feeling better—a stunt like that wasn’t the kind of thing a sick man had the energy to do.

“Come in,” Robin said casually. If it hadn’t been for the tiny smirk on his face and the mischief in his eyes, I would have accused him of looking bored. He’d done it on purpose, likely as a way to get revenge for having dragged him to a doctor’s appointment. Seeing him playful instead of miserable gave me hope that everything was going to be okay.

The door opened, admitting Dr. Becker. Her short brown hair was styled to look windswept, and she carried herself with a timeless grace that spoke of confidence and intelligence. “Hello, Mr. Sullivan, Mr. Mills.”

“Hello, Dr. Becker,” I said. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

“I’m glad I could fit you in,” she replied. She had a medical chart tucked under her arm, which she glanced at to reference. “It seems today’s appointment is for Mr. Mills—Mr. Mills, do you want Mr. Sullivan to stay, or would you prefer I see you alone?”

“He can stay,” Robin said. “Really, if he stays in the room and you can convince him it’s nothing scary and life-threatening, I’d appreciate it. I have food poisoning, but the way he’s acting, you’d think I caught Ebola.”

Dr. Becker chuckled. She moved to her desk and set the chart down, then put on a pair of examination gloves and selected a tongue depressor from a sterile container. “I’ll be able to tell you pretty conclusively if it’s Ebola or not in a second, but based on a quick visual exam, I’m going to say you’re fine.”

Robin arched a brow victoriously and looked in my direction. I shook my head. “I never said it was Ebola. I just said that I was worried. Dehydration is a valid concern.”

“That I do agree with,” Dr. Becker said. “Mr. Mills, will you sit on the examination table, please? While you’re getting settled, can you tell me about what’s been going on?”

Robin got up from his chair and went to sit on the examination table. The paper sheet over it crinkled when he sat. “Yesterday at around one in the afternoon, I got sick. Troy had just brought me lunch, and the smell of it didn’t agree with me, and that was it. I went home and felt good enough to get some cleaning done, then settled in for bed and woke up at around three this morning sick all over again. I really do think it’s food poisoning. I went to some trendy molecular gastronomy restaurant the other day, and it was probably something I ate there.”

“I’m not so certain about that.” Dr. Becker came to stand beside Robin. “Mouth open, tongue flat.”

Robin did as told, allowing Dr. Becker to get a look at his tongue and throat. She checked his eyes, then hummed thoughtfully and returned to her charts.

“I’m not seeing any overt signs of illness. You’re not running a temperature, you’re not pale, your eyes aren’t bloodshot, and while you do seem to be a little dehydrated, it’s nothing a little Pedialyte can’t fix. What troubles me is the fact that you felt better between bouts of extreme nausea.”

Dr. Becker discarded her gloves and tapped her fingers on her desk. “It could be food poisoning, I suppose. Not everyone manifests symptoms in the same way. I see that your charts mention that you’re an omega—could it be possible that you’re pregnant, Mr. Mills?”

A single question was all it took for the world to stand still. My chest clenched and my throat closed, and as they did, my mind grew foggy.

Pregnant?

Robin had never asked me to use protection, and I’d never bothered to use it. We’d been having sex at least once a week, and oftentimes more than that, since he’d come to teach me how to take care of myself following the Redding disaster. I’d thought, naively, that he’d have put himself on birth control, but…

“Robin?” I asked in a small voice.

Robin’s shoulders were pinched to his neck. “I mean, it’s possible,” he said stiffly. “I don’t think it’s likely, but… but, I guess it could be a thing.”

“I can run some bloodwork if you’d like. That way, we can rule it out.” Dr. Becker looked us both over, her expression kind. She didn’t judge us, and for that, I was grateful. “It’ll take all of about ten minutes.”

“Yeah. Sure. Why not.” Robin swallowed nervously. “Once we get it crossed off the list, it’ll have to be food poisoning, right?”

“Unless the symptoms don’t improve, yes.”

“Then let’s do it.” Robin held out his arm.

I couldn’t speak—all I could do was look at him and imagine what could be.

Pregnant?

If he was, he was less than two months along. How many more months would pass before he started to show? Until he grew round with our child, skin glowing, eyes bright? I pictured him like he was on his best days, mischief alight in his expression and his lips pushed to the side in a cocky grin as he held his baby bump with one hand.

Look what you’ve done now, he’d whisper in Master’s honeyed voice. You’re going to have to provide for both of us, Troy. It’s going to get expensive, and I’m going to make sure every cent I need comes from your account. Imagine the nursery I’ll build. Light, bright, and beautiful. I won’t spare a single expense. It’s only the best for me and for our child, right? We’ll live in luxury while you foot the bill…

I had to shift my legs to hide the way my cock was tenting my fly. With Master, my rules and hard limits had always been rigidly defined. We’d set budgets and drawn the line when it came to how much he could take from my account in a day, a week, a month, and a year. Since he’d come to Vegas, those rules had been looser than ever, but still existed in some nebulous form or another. But now that there was a chance we had a baby on the way? There would be no more boundaries. Master could dip his fingers as deeply as he wanted to into my accounts—he could drain me for everything I had… and I’d let him do it. For the rest of my life, I would provide for him—I would provide for both of them.

It aroused me at the same time as it gave me hope.

I’d be a father.

It had never been something I’d wanted, but now, I craved it more than anything else.

Ten minutes had never lasted so long. I sat still and silent in the chair beside Robin, too tense to move, to fidget, and almost to breathe. Beside me, Robin sat quietly, head turned away from me, chin rested in his hand. I didn’t take offense. An unexpected pregnancy was an emotional event, and he was entitled to whatever he was feeling. In time, when the news had sunken in, we’d discuss it together and make things right. No matter what, I would take care of him. It had all come on suddenly, but I knew it in my bones, my heart, and my head. Robin was the one I wanted, and baby or not, in face of a potentially life-changing event, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I never wanted to let him go.

Twelve minutes after Dr. Becker had left the room with Robin’s blood sample, she returned. Robin lifted his chin, his face expressionless. “What did the results tell you?”

Dr. Becker closed the door. She offered us a smile. “The blood test came back positive, Mr. Mills—you’re pregnant.”