Omega's Hope: An MPREG Shifter Romance

by Noah Harris

  Holding onto Christopher's thighs, he looks the alpha over. He's beautiful like this. Strong and built like a soldier, muscles twitching beneath his toned flesh. Chest red and heaving. Eyes lidded and dark with desire. His arms are bent upward, hands curling into the pillow above his head. His entrance is hot and twitching as Timothy presses against it.

  Holding eye contact, he waits for Christopher to lick his lips and nod before pushing in.

  They both gasp at the startlingly new sensations. Christopher being filled for the first time and Timothy's cock being enveloped by tight, wet heat.

  It's overwhelming, but he can't stop. he pushes in to the hilt, pausing to catch his breath, head bowed. His hair sticks to his skin with sweat. He glances up and finds Christopher in much the same state, eyes barely open as he gazes at Timothy, beautiful mouth parted and wet as he pants.

  And then Timothy begins to move. It's strange, at first, as he tries to figure out a rhythm. He falls into it eventually, encouraged by Christopher's soft moans that trail on the end of heavy breaths and gasps. Once he gets going, he can't stop, hips snapping forward every time he draws back, plunging deeper and deeper into Christopher's tight heat. His gut tightens, pleasure coiling low and hot. His own breath comes in ragged pants, fingers digging into Christopher's toned thighs. With every thrust, his swollen belly rubs against Christopher's cock, heavy and thick against his stomach.

  "Fuck," Christopher pants softly, eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck, Timothy."

  His name, said like a plea and a prayer, urges him to go faster, harder, building Christopher's pleasure up as his own starts to crest.

  "I'm not…I'm not going to last much longer," he struggles to say.

  "Me neither." Christopher reaches for him, and Timothy lets go of his thighs.

  Without the leverage, his thrusts become sporadic, but it doesn't matter. He twists his fingers together with Christopher's, pressing their joined hands to the bed. His other hand wraps around the alpha's cock, stroking him fast and tight, nearly in sync with his thrusts.

  Christopher tumbles over the edge first, cock tightening in his hand before cumming over Timothy's fingers and his own chest. He tightens around Timothy, pulsing in just the right way to tip him over into his own climax. His hips shudder through it as waves of pleasure crash through him.

  They take a moment to catch their breath, heart beats calming as they lie together, hands held tight and roaming over heated skin. Christopher is the first to move, wincing as he stands and shuffling awkwardly away. Timothy stifles his giggles to save the alpha's pride. He returns clean and with a wet towel, cleaning Timothy off before lying beside him.

  Timothy curls into his side, and Christopher's arms automatically wrap around him, pulling a blanket over them both.

  "That was nice," Timothy says, resting his head on Christopher's chest, arm wrapped around his middle.

  Christopher hums, fingers carding through Timothy's hair. "It was…alright."

  Timothy looks up at him, propping his chin on his chest. "Would you be open to doing it that way again?" he asks, chuckling when Christopher's face goes blank. "Not every time, but like…sometimes. Just to switch it up."

  For a moment, Timothy expects him to say no, with the way he gapes back at him. But then Christopher asks, "You want to do this again?"

  His chest tightens, realizing the implication of his words. But his heart flutters, full and warm as he realizes…yeah. Yeah, he does. Because he wants to stay here, with Christopher. The hopeful and awed look on the alpha's face is too much, and Timothy buries his face in his chest once more to hide his blush. "Well, yeah…" he mumbles. "You're my mate…and I love you."

  It's the first time he's said either of those things aloud, and his body reacts to it. His heart skips a beat and butterflies fill his stomach. Christopher's arms tighten around him, pulling them close together as he buries his face in Timothy's hair. "I wouldn't mind doing it again, like this, sometimes," he mumbles.

  Timothy presses his smile to Christopher's chest and holds him tight.

  Christopher

  Five weeks later…

  Christopher had thought he was ready. They've had the date scheduled for Timothy's planned C-section for months now. They've had bags packed for Timothy's stay at the hospital for weeks, sitting innocently and patiently by the door. Christopher has watched him grow so large he can barely do anything at all, waddling around the house as Christopher hovers nearby, attentive and worried, to the point that Timothy has snapped at him and shooed him away.

  He's never gone far, always watching, body tense, wolf alert, ready to spring forward at the slightest inconvenience.

  It's been clear for a while now that Timothy's pregnancy is coming to an end. The past few days have been tense with a sort of simmering anticipation. They haven't talked about it, but it's clear that the birth has been the only thing on their minds. Timothy's hands barely stay off his belly, and when they sit together, Christopher's stray to it as well, reverently lost in thought about the child to come.

  Timothy loses himself in last minute preparation for the upcoming trial, distracting himself by going over his files and defense over and over again, making phone calls and writing emails. He won't have much time for recovery before the trial is scheduled for court. He seems prepared though, and more than that, he seems confident. Christopher admires his persistence and dedication.

  When the day arrives, Christopher can't sleep. He finds himself awake long before their alarm goes off, and he slides out of their nest to avoid waking Timothy. He paces the house, checking and double checking that their things are in order. And as the sun rises slowly over the horizon, he goes outside to shift to his wolf form, pacing restless circles around his property in an attempt to burn off the excess energy filling his veins. He wants nothing more than to sprint through the woods until he's exhausted and spent, but he refuses to go far from his mate.

  The drive to the hospital is a short one. Their military base isn't too big, but it's spacious enough to accommodate a pack that needs room to run and breathe. The hospital is on the opposite side from the residential area, and while it would have made a pleasant, if not long, walk under normal circumstances, Christopher refuses to let Timothy walk there in his condition.

  He doesn't realize how tense he is until Timothy's hand comes to rest on his arm, jarring him out of his thoughts. He blinks, glancing away from the road to his mate. Timothy smiles from the passenger seat, looking radiant in the late morning light. He's practically glowing, excitement lighting up his features. There's a nervous glint in his eyes, but it's not fear.

  "It'll be okay," he says, squeezing Christopher's arm.

  He feels a wry smile tug at his lips as he looks back to the road. "I'm supposed to be the one telling you that."

  Timothy chuckles, a breathy sound that warms Christopher's heart. "Yeah, but I'm not the one who's worried."

  He lifts an eyebrow. "You're not even a little bit nervous?"

  "Well…yeah, I am, but…" Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Timothy look down, smiling as he lays a hand protectively over his belly. "I know it's this little one's time. My wolf can feel it. I can feel it. And I can't wait to meet them."

  Christopher smiles, feeling the strings on his heart being plucked, singing and resonating through his core. "Me, too." He lets out a shaky sigh. "I guess I'm just…worried. For you and the baby. I don't want anything to happen to you."

  "Nothing will," Timothy says, all firm confidence. On some level, Christopher is amused at how much their roles have switched. "These are wolf doctors who are trained in male omega births. They said our baby is healthy. There shouldn't be any complications."

  Christopher keeps his eyes on the road, but his grin is wide, voice soft and hopeful as he says, "Our baby?"

  He feels Timothy's grip on his arm tighten for a moment before relaxing, voice sheepish as he says, "Um…yeah, I, uh…I've kind of started to think of them as…ours? If…If that's okay?"

&nbs
p; Christopher puts his hand over Timothy's on his arm, squeezing his fingers. "It's more than okay. I've started to think the same."

  "Really?" Timothy's breathless voice is far too adorable for Christopher to take. How he managed to go four years without chasing after this little omega, he'll never know.

  He chuckles. "Really. I'd like…I'd like to help you raise them. Be a father to them. If…if you'll let me?" He glances sidelong, stealing a peek at Timothy only to be blinded by his wide grin, eyes dancing and glassy.

  "Does that mean I can stay here?"

  It's the first time either of them have brought it up. They've both been avoiding talk of what will happen after the baby is born, about what will happen between them. Christopher's heartbeat is heavy in his chest, painful and loud. He wouldn't be surprised if Timothy can hear it. His mouth feels dry as he says, with his heart in his throat, "If you want to. I want you to. I want you to be here. With me. With my pack." He twines their fingers together, running his thumb over Timothy's knuckles. "I want you to lead them with me, by my side. Let me take care of you and our child. I-I want to be your mate. Fully and completely."

  He doesn't dare take his eyes off the road. He tells himself it's because he's being safe, but he knows it's because he fears what he might find in Timothy's expression. The seconds of silence that tick by are torture, and his stomach churns with uncertainty and doubt. He thought, hoped, they were on the same page, but what if they haven't been? What if it's all just been wishful thinking on his part?

  But then Timothy moves, leaning across the center console between their seats to rest his head on Christopher's shoulder, nuzzling into his bicep. "I want to be your mate, too," he whispers, and Christopher doesn't need to look at him to hear the smile in his voice. "I want to stay."

  "Then stay."

  Christopher thought he was ready. He learns very quickly that he’s not.

  Once they're at the hospital, things move quickly. It's a whirlwind of activity that leaves him dizzy and disoriented. They fill out paperwork. Timothy is whisked away to prepare. Christopher’s left trailing after him like a lost pup. Nurses and doctors are everywhere, going about their business with quick efficiency. The room is prepared, machines are hooked up to his mate, and sharp instruments are laid out.

  Christopher knows they're all necessary, and he knows these are professionals. He knows they're not going to hurt his mate, and yet his wolf is on edge. It shifts just beneath the surface, making his hair stand on end. Restless energy curdles in his veins, and he finds himself twitchy and jumpy, eyes snapping to every movement and every sharp sound. He hovers near his mate, biting his tongue to stifle the warning growls that threaten to rumble up his throat whenever someone gets too close.

  Then Timothy's hand is on his arm, and he looks down to find those warm, brown eyes gazing up at him. He smiles, small and reassuring as he squeezes Christopher's arm. It's gentle and grounding, but he also feels the sharp bite of his nails as a warning, telling him to calm down.

  He lets out a quivering breath, forcing his body to relax, if only minutely.

  When he glances up, he sees a nurse on the other side of Timothy's bed, giving him a small, knowing smile. His answering smile is apologetic, and he mutters, "Sorry."

  She chuckles, adjusting some of the machines at Timothy's bedside. "It's alright. It often happens with mates."

  The sight of the tools and instruments makes Christopher's stomach churn. They look vicious and dangerous, glinting silver in the bright light of the hospital room. He has to turn his gaze away from them as the doctors continue to set up their space. Instead, he turns to Timothy, whispering to him low and smoothing the hair from his face. While the omega is keeping it together noticeably better than Christopher is, he can smell the sour edge of nervousness in his scent.

  He's known for the entire pregnancy that Timothy would need a C-section. Male omegas, while born with a uterus, have narrow birth canals that lead to complications more often than not. In the modern era, C-sections for male omegas are simply standard procedure. Christopher had known that, and he’d thought he was mentally prepared for it.

  He was wrong.

  The entire thing is far bloodier and gorier than he’d been expecting. He has to turn his back to the procedure, instead focusing his attention wholly on his mate's face. Thankfully, with the local anesthesia, Timothy doesn't feel a thing. Still, the whole situation makes Christopher's stomach churn, lungs tight with anxiety. He can smell his mate's blood beneath the clinical and chemical smell of the hospital. He can hear the doctors talking. The machine beeps loud and sharp with Timothy's heartbeat. And while Timothy doesn't seem to be in pain, his brow is creased, breath labored, and sweat shines on his skin.

  He keeps his eyes closed for most of it, lips pursed tight, and Christopher sits at his bedside, smoothing a hand over his face, brushing his hair back, and whispering to him. He's lost track of what he's saying. All he knows is he's rambling, but that's alright, because Timothy just seems to like the sound of his voice.

  His other hand holds Timothy's, their grip tight and firm. The omega's nails bite into his skin, but Christopher doesn't mind. The pain is grounding as his own head swims, dizzy with the onslaught of sensations and worry.

  Before the procedure began, the doctors had cautiously asked if he wanted to wait in the hall outside the room. Apparently alphas have a tendency to be over protective and their wolves can even get violent when their mates are giving birth. But Christopher refused. He needed to be at Timothy's side, and he promised to keep his wolf in check. He can still feel it pacing beneath his flesh, snapping its teeth and growling, even whining at the pitiful state of his mate, eager and desperate to touch and reassure.

  He's almost certain they’d have been more persistent about keeping him out of the room had he not been the Prime Alpha of the pack. They wouldn't have been able to force him away even if they wanted to.

  But he keeps his word and doesn't lose control.

  At the first sound of a baby's cry, Christopher's eyes snap away from Timothy's face for the first time, gaze fixing on a squirming child as it's pulled from his mate. He watches intently, eyes narrowed and gaze sharp. His inner wolf stands at attention, eerily still, ears perked forward. All his attention is trained on the babe, his mate's child, his child.

  A girl.

  A daughter.

  She's bloody and squirming as best she can, small face scrunched up as she wails. He's struck by the thought that she's not as cute as he expected, but also with the sense of pride that she already seems so strong.

  He watches as the nurses clean her up and wrap her in a blanket, quickly carrying her across the room to where Christopher waits. He lets go of Timothy's hand in order to take their daughter into his arms.

  As soon as her tiny weight settles into his embrace, he feels something foreign bloom in his chest, bright, warm and all encompassing, rushing through his veins. It settles, strangely calm and peaceful, sending out ripples that make him shiver, like a feather settling on the surface of a still pond.

  He knows various kinds of love.

  He loved his parents, despite what they put him through. He loves the General for the strength and guidance that changed his life. He loves his pack and would do anything to keep them safe. He loves Timothy, his mate, so wholly and unconditionally.

  And…he feels a new kind of love blossom as he gazes down at the resting face of their daughter. A kind love. An unbreakable one. One so soft and gentle. Protective and caring. One that he knows is woven so intricately into his core, along with his love for Timothy, and he knows he'll never be free of it. It's a part of him now.

  And now she's cleaned up and relaxed, so small, light and innocent in his arms, he has to admit…maybe she is a little cute after all.

  He's pulled from his thoughts by Timothy's low whine. He looks up to find his mate's eyes open. His gaze is lidded and distant. He looks disoriented, but his eyes are frantic as they snap around. His hands twitch at h
is sides. Christopher knows exactly what he's looking for. Or rather, who.

  "Here," he says, sitting on the edge of his seat to get as close to Timothy as possible. He holds their daughter up so Timothy can see her. The omega's eyes snap to her instantly, widening as he takes her in. His expression is one of pure awe, brows relaxed and lips lax. "Here she is. Our daughter."

  "A daughter…" Timothy echoes. He tries to lift his arms, eager to take her, but it's clear he's far too weak to do so. Christopher scoots closer, shifting her in his arms so she's close to Timothy. He watches, chest achingly full, as Timothy lifts a hand reverently and gently runs his fingers over the baby's chubby face. "Our daughter," he repeats, like he can hardly believe it.

  "What should we name her?" Christopher asks softly. His gaze flickers between them, father and daughter, unsure which one he'd rather look at more. They're both so beautiful and his heart aches for both of them. His mate and his daughter. His family.

  Timothy hums, fingertips tracing along his daughter's brow and cheeks, to the tip of her nose and beneath her chin. "Mia," he says, thoughtful and soft. "I want to name her Mia."

  Christopher can't help his smile as he looks down at her. "Mia," he repeats. "It fits her, I think."

  Timothy hums again, hand falling away. He turns his head toward Christopher, even as his eyes drift closed. "She looks so much like you," he mumbles, and Christopher stiffens. He looks at his mate in shock, but before he can come to his senses and question it, Timothy's body relaxes, breaths becoming slow and even.

  The nurses usher him away from the bed, telling him Timothy is fine and healthy, but the birth has left his small body weak and exhausted.

  "He'll be perfectly fine once he has time to rest," one of the nurses says as she gently guides Christopher out of the room. He glances over his shoulder, watching his mate for as long as he can. The doctors have already begun the process of stitching him back up. But then he's out of the room, and his attention returns to the bundle in his arms.