Page 122 of Glitterati Omega

Finally, Rupert tried to make his mouth work. Tried to form words. He wasn’t sure he knew how to speak any longer. He didn’t feel human at all.

There was some hushed whispering on the far side of the room. Rupert glanced over at Mama and Latisha, bent over the babies and whispering furiously. He glanced back at Winston, then at Morgan, who was between his legs. He barely caught the flash of the needle.

“What are you—ow!”

“Numbing agent,” Morgan said.

“That would have been useful before,” he grumbled.

Morgan flashed him a dangerous grin. “You’re not gonna like this part much more.” They picked up another needle, this one with surgical thread drawn through it.

“Oh,” Rupert said.

“Only as many as he needs,” Winston said, glowering at Morgan’s bowed head.

“Aw,” the doctor said, sarcasm dripping from their tone, “you don’t want the daddy stitch in there, make him all nice and tight?”

“If I could move my leg right now, I would kick you so hard,” Rupert groused.

“I never do that—terrible practice, only causes a lot more pain. Ugh, you should see the infections—”

“Morgan,” Winston said through gritted teeth. “You are not helping.”

Morgan glanced up at Rupert, their brown eyes glittering with mirth. “I just mean, I have to fix other doctors’ fuck-ups. Lucky that you don’t need to worry about it.”

Winston heaved a breath. He looked exhausted. “Please just finish up.”

Rupert glanced nervously at Mama and Latisha again.

When he looked back, Winston gave him a guilty look. Morgan snipped off the thread. “What’s going on?” Rupert asked.

Morgan tugged off their gloves. “Hm? Oh. Well. Kinda funny—one’s about his shade.” They pointed at Winston. “And the other one’s got your complexion.”

“What?” Maybe Rupert’s brain wasn’t working; he didn’t think he understood.

He didn’t have much more time to process, as Mama and Latisha brought over the two tiny bundles of blankets.

He peered cautiously inside the blankets. Sure enough, the baby on the right had smooth, melanin-rich skin like Winston, with dark hair crowning their head. The other’s complexion was more like his own.

He glanced at Morgan, who shrugged. “It happens.”

Winston lifted a brow. “Are you sure you didn’t make a mistake, Morgan?”

“I swear! It’s called human genetics, they do weird things sometimes!”

Rupert glanced at Winston, then tugged the baby on the right—his firstborn—into his arms. “Does it matter?” he asked pulling the blankets down a bit, finding the baby’s tiny, questing hand and taking it in his own. The baby twisted their head. “They both came out of me, they’re both mine.”

“Mama’s baby, papa’s maybe,” Mama muttered as she rejoined them, arms folded.

“Mother,” Winston rebuked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rupert said. “They’re both Winston’s, they’re both mine, they’re both—lovely. Perfect.” He turned the baby toward him, marveling at how strong the infant’s grip was. The baby puckered their lips.

Morgan gave him another couple of shots, to help with the bleeding. The midwife instructed him on how to nurse, and Winston helped him by trading off infants—while one was nursing, Winston cradled the other, rocking them lightly in his arms as he paced the room, humming a soft melody. Rupert nearly fell asleep, it was so gentle and soothing.

“What should we name them?” Rupert asked, glancing up at Winston as the alpha drew near again.

“Hmm,” Winston mused. “How about …”