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Sejanus had thought for weeks about how that moment would be.
He had fantasized while sitting on the bed, waiting for the days following his positive pregnancy test, hoping Coriolanus would return while holding one of the pistols his Pa had given him as a gift. He looked at the gun in his hands, spinning it, his teeth clenched as he imagined Coriolanus entering through the door of the presidential mansion, while he imagined himself aiming at his head and blowing his brains out, while he imagined his blood spread across the carpet of the entrance hall, just like his Pa had taught him to shoot when he was little.
He wanted to scream at Coriolanus. He wanted to squeeze his neck until he couldn't breathe anymore and fell lifeless to the floor. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill him with his own hands for what he had done to him.
For that thing that bastard had forced inside him.
The emptiness he felt when he held the pregnancy test with trembling hands was incomparable. He felt numb. It was as if he hadn't felt Coriolanus' hand lifting the hem of his shirt, as if he wasn't kneeling in front of him kissing his belly, as if Coriolanus' voice didn't sound in his ears telling him how well Sejanus had done, how good Sejanus was for giving him what he wanted so much.
And then Coriolanus left to work in his presidential office. Sejanus waited for him by the door, a pistol in hand. And he didn't return. The same thing happened on the second day. And on the third. And on the fourth. Until a week passed, which turned into two, and then into a month. And Sejanus couldn't wait for him by the door with the gun in hand anymore, because morning sickness was ruining his mornings, and he spent most of the day exhausted, sick, vomiting. And yet, Coriolanus didn't come back. He didn't even call. The anger, the hatred, gave way to something else.
Pain.
Nothing but pain.
Sejanus didn't want to give Coriolanus another victory besides the one he had already achieved, but every time he slept alone in bed and curled up, the tears came. They were no longer just of anger. Now they were about the absence he felt of having someone to hold his face, and someone to say he was beautiful, someone to kiss his forehead and tell him how good he was. Coriolanus wanted that. He wanted that thing inside Sejanus more than anything, to the point that he disregarded Sejanus' desires to get it.
Why wasn't he here, after all?
Why wasn't he pampering him?
Why wasn't he sleeping by his side? Why didn't he come back?
"Are you going to leave me?"
Desperation won. And Sejanus gave Coriolanus another victory. He knew his husband must have been smiling on the other end of the phone when he answered the call.
"Why would I leave you?" Coriolanus' voice sounded, and it was the first time Sejanus had heard it in weeks; he felt like crying right there. "You're carrying our baby. I have no reason to leave you."
"Then why didn't you come back?"
Silence lingered for another moment.
"Well. I thought you were still angry with me."
And Sejanus was angry with him. But it wasn't fair. He needed his husband. He needed someone with him there.
"It doesn't matter. When are you coming back?"
"You know this year is an election year, Sejanus. I don't know when I'll be able to come back home. I'm swamped with work. But I promise I'll call you as soon as I can."
Coriolanus hung up the phone without even saying goodbye. And Sejanus' shoulders slumped. He returned to fantasizing with the gun in his hand, thinking about the sound Coriolanus' head would make when it burst. But his fantasy didn't last long. He cried himself to sleep.
He hated himself for missing him. And he hated himself even more for wanting him to be there.
"Mr. Snow-Plinth," he had received a call from one of Coriolanus' assistants that morning as he finished getting Julius ready for school, "the president asked to inform you that this afternoon, you have a photo shoot scheduled for the new advertising campaign."
Sejanus hadn't seen Coriolanus in almost four months. And was that all he had to say? A notice about a photo shoot?
"Alright."
It didn't matter anymore. Sejanus had lost his dignity and his husband, it seemed. What else did he have to lose?
It was during the afternoon, after preparing Julius' lunch, that the car came to pick him up for the studio where the photo shoot would take place. Sejanus felt like he wasn't there in the car seat most of the time; it felt like it wasn't his legs moving when he got out of the back seat to walk over to where one of the photo shoot assistants was waiting to guide him inside the location. Sejanus had gotten used to these places after so many times Coriolanus insisted on using him as a spokesperson. "You have too beautiful a face not to be shown to all of Panem," he used to say. And Sejanus knew it didn't matter if he said no. In the end, it was Coriolanus' will that would prevail.
(He knew well. He was carrying the proof of that inside him. He had felt the thing move inside him the night before. He shivered.)
"Mr. First Husband, the President gave us orders that besides the new advertising package, this photo shoot will serve to announce your pregnancy to the rest of the country," the director of photography, a young man whose hands trembled as he spoke to Sejanus, said as an entire team surrounded him. "Your bump is already showing, so I wanted to take some photos with a slightly unbuttoned shirt, right? And your hand under your belly. It will look wonderful! The team will bring the wardrobe for you to change."
Sejanus wanted to kill Coriolanus.
"I hope you've only chosen the best for my husband to look beautiful. His face is the most important part of my campaign."
Still, he felt his heart stop when he heard his voice. He turned only to make sure it wasn't a figment of his imagination, and that it wasn't a dream, and that it was real. And it was. Walking towards him was Coriolanus. Coriolanus, with his neatly trimmed beard. Coriolanus, with his heavy, red coat, which had become almost his trademark. Coriolanus, with the same haircut from four months ago. Coriolanus, whom he felt as if he had forgotten the voice. Coriolanus. His Coriolanus. The bastard who had forced a baby inside him. The bastard who had abandoned him.
His Coriolanus.
The bastard he cried missing every night.
Sejanus hated him, but, oh, how much more Sejanus hated himself.
Coriolanus had approached and was talking to the director of photography while Sejanus stared at him, motionless. He knew his husband and knew he was watching her from the corners of his eyes. Coriolanus was not foolish. He knew what he had done. He knew that Sejanus must want to strangle him with his own hands. That's why he didn't approach. That's why he didn't give a kiss on his mouth. That's why he didn't kiss his cheek. That's why he didn't hold his hand. That's why he did nothing but wait and analyze. The director of photography finally stepped away while Sejanus and Coriolanus were left alone. Coriolanus didn't act. He waited. He stared at him with those cold, blue eyes.
"How are you, Sejanus?"
Sejanus wanted to kill him.
He felt tears starting to well up in his eyes.
"You left me," his voice came out choked, barely audible, his lips moving as if they made no sound.
Something in Coriolanus's expression changed. Perhaps he had realized then that Sejanus wouldn't kill him. And he reached a hand to Sejanus's face, wiping away one of the tears that had fallen from his eyes. It wasn't fair for him to do that. Not after all he had done before.
"I'm here now, aren't I?"
Son of a bitch.
Still, Sejanus hugged him, not wanting to let him go. Because if he let him go, he didn't know when he could see him again. Coriolanus returned the embrace, kissing his shoulder, running his fingers through Sejanus's brown curls.
"Don't cry, love," Coriolanus whispered against his shoulder as Sejanus cried, his nose buried in his blond hair that smelled like the same expensive shampoo as always. "Don't cry. I'm here."
"You weren't here yesterday," Sejanus sobbed. "Or the day before yesterday."
Not for the past four months.
"But I'm here now, aren't I?" Coriolanus pulled Sejanus's body away from him and kissed his cheek, then moved to kiss his belly. "This one is growing faster, isn't it? Julius didn't get this big until around the fifth month."
Sejanus sniffled, watching as Coriolanus rested his head against his belly. He felt repulsed by someone touching that area. Sejanus caught himself scratching his swollen belly some nights, as it became more evident that something was growing there. A baby. Only more recently could he call it a baby. His baby. Who had been forced inside him. Who had violated the sanctuary that should have been his body. Heavens, Sejanus was a mess. He couldn't even let Julius put his head on his belly to try to listen to the little brother moving. What was wrong with him?
"Come on. Let's get you ready for the photo shoot," Coriolanus took his hand, and Sejanus wished he would never let go as he guided him through the studio. "You have to look beautiful to announce your pregnancy to all of Panem, don't you?"
Beautiful. That's how Coriolanus referred to him. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Sejanus looked at himself in the mirror and found himself disgusting. He saw how his face was rounder and how his body changed, just as it had one day changed.
But Coriolanus called him beautiful.
What would Sejanus do without him around?
Sejanus hated those photo sessions. He hated how people circled him like wasps. He hated how there was always someone touching up the curls in his hair and he hated that there was always someone finishing up the makeup on his face. He hated that session even more. The clothes were beautiful, and Sejanus would recognize that design anywhere, but the director asked him to smile more. To make his smile look more natural. He asked Sejanus to put his hand over his still-small bump.
He wanted to die right there.
He tried to pretend he wasn't there. He tried to think he was somewhere else. Anywhere else but there. That his hand wasn't over his belly and that his cheeks didn't hurt from forcing smiles. He felt like he only came back to reality when Coriolanus pulled him to sit beside him on the conference room sofa as he analyzed the photos taken and the proposals for the new campaign. Sejanus rested his head on his shoulder. He knew his opinion didn't matter anyway. He intertwined their hands and closed his eyes. He thought Coriolanus would come back home. That he would sleep embracing him. Sejanus would let him have sex that night. Coriolanus could say how lovely he was. That everything Sejanus thought about himself was deceit. And he would sleep with the side of his bed filled, not empty like it had been for the past four months.
Maybe it was worth it. Maybe the pain Coriolanus gave him was worth it.
(Sejanus wanted to kill him. He felt the baby inside him moving and wanted to kill Coriolanus. He wanted to kill him for making him dependent on him like this. He wanted to kill him for putting him in this position. He wanted to kill him for being the only remedy for his pain.)
Sejanus dozed off. He woke up with his head on the couch. A studio assistant had approached him with a glass of water.
"Mr. President wanted to let you know he's back in the presidential office, Mr. First Husband, but said he would call you soon to check on you."
Sejanus wanted to die.
Sejanus wanted to kill him.
How had he reached this point?
How was he humiliating himself so much for that man to come back home?
And why was he doing it? Why was he torturing him?
Sejanus once questioned, over the phone, the only way he could speak to his husband while at home. Coriolanus had remained silent on the other end of the line. And then he replied:
"Well. Ask yourself. Why am I torturing you?"
It was hard to tell. Maybe because Coriolanus liked it, liked seeing Sejanus humiliate himself for him, almost crawling on his knees to beg him to come back home, to beg him to sleep in their bed again. He had begged on his knees once, in one of the countless photo shoots Coriolanus was making him attend. He cried and clung to his pants, tears streaming down his face while members of the team tried to convince him to let the president go. And Sejanus, reluctantly, let the president go. And in the next photoshoot, Coriolanus acted as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had occurred. Sejanus was going mad.
It wasn't every photoshoot that Coriolanus attended, and Sejanus bit the corners of his fingers, looking around, hoping he would show up, hoping for him any minute. When he didn't show up, it was always devastating. They needed to touch up his makeup because he always ended up crying. When he could count on Coriolanus's presence, he didn't let go of his hand. He felt that maybe, that way, he could make him stay. It never worked. It was worth a try. Every time he tried to find a way to convince him to come back. Coriolanus was the only person he allowed to touch his swollen belly. He brought sweets, once, and snacks he had baked. He thought that would be enough to convince Coriolanus to come back. It wasn't. He sat on his lap. He spread kisses all over his face.
Oh, Coryo, you're so amazing. Your campaign is so clever. You're so smart, Coryo.
Coriolanus loved compliments. He loved it when Sejanus praised him. And he loved running his hands over his thighs while feeding his neediness, his need for affection, saying how beautiful Sejanus was, asking if Sejanus needed anything to help with the pregnancy. And every time, Sejanus had hopes, believed he could come back. Believed it could work out. And it never did. Coriolanus never came back.
Sejanus was starting to get desperate. He had no more ideas to convince Coriolanus to come back.
And that's how Sejanus had reached this point. Being fucked against the tiny bathroom sink of the photography studio, his belly pressing against the countertop, like a common whore.
Like a District whore.
Coriolanus liked sex, didn't he? So maybe sex could make him come back? That was the idea Sejanus had in that photoshoot, and that's why he had kissed him like that, why he didn't complain about the back pain he felt, why he had kissed Coriolanus's neck and whispered in his ear:
"I miss you so much. Do you miss me too? It's been five months already. I'm going crazy without you. Please, Coryo, there's a bathroom right there..."
The true truth was that it wasn't a complete lie. Sejanus was going crazy without Coriolanus, but not for that specific reason. He could go years without having sex. That was never a problem. But he knew his Coriolanus, and thought that maybe convincing him to fuck him in the bathroom of a photography studio was the best way to make him come back. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was manipulation. But Sejanus didn't care anymore, he just wanted his Coriolanus back, and if spreading his legs for him was the solution to his problem, then so be it.
It was an uncomfortable position. In the fifth month, his belly was already large, pressing against the sink countertop. Coriolanus had never liked gentle sex, and just because Sejanus was pregnant didn't mean that would change. His back ached, his legs ached, his arms ached, everything hurt. Yet, he moaned, begged for more, and agreed to every obscenity Coriolanus spoke into his ear.
"Look at you," he grunted, his hands over his body, his teeth digging into his skin; Coriolanus grabbed his curls and pulled his head back, forcing him to look in the mirror reflecting such a sordid image. "Spreading your legs for me, begging for me to fuck you. You're just a whore, aren't you? Just a District whore. But my District whore."
Sejanus hated himself for moaning so loudly. He hated himself for climaxing at that exact moment. He hated himself because it was true. He was just a damn District whore, spreading his legs to try to convince his husband to come back home, because after all, that must be the only reason Coriolanus would come back. He hated himself for what came out of his mouth, seeing his gaping reflection while Coriolanus was behind him, his hands gripping the edge of the sink countertop tightly.
"Daddy."
He climaxed inside him at the same minute. Maybe then Coriolanus would come back.
Sejanus had had sex with Coriolanus in bathrooms before, but never like this. And he had never felt so dirty, so filthy, with semen running down his thighs, with his own semen staining part of his clothes. Sejanus couldn't move. He stood there, still, hands gripping the sink countertop, breathing heavily and staring at his sweaty and flushed reflection in the mirror. His curls were damp with sweat and stuck to his forehead. So this was who he was. The mirror had no reason to lie about how pathetic Sejanus was.
Coriolanus kissed his cheek. Kissed his neck, and held his face to kiss his lips.
"You're perfect. I love you."
Sejanus melted into his kiss as Coriolanus whispered against his mouth again and again how beautiful he was, how perfect he was, how much he adored him. Sejanus felt terrible. He looked in the mirror every day and saw nothing but his disgusting body, gaining weight and swelling and feeling no longer his own. A body he was forced to expose in endless photo shoots that seemed to be happening more and more every passing week. But Sejanus endured, endured it all, because maybe Coriolanus could kiss him and tell him he loved him. That he would keep his promises. That he would finally come back home.
Coriolanus descended the kiss from his mouth, and then kissed his neck, lifted his shirt and kissed his belly. Sejanus fought the instinct to push him away. If what Coriolanus wanted was to kiss his belly, then he could do that. As long as he came back.
Please, Coriolanus, come back home.
"Come. I'll help you clean up. You still have to finish the photo shoot."
And Sejanus let himself be taken care of by him, let Coriolanus clean his legs and bathe him in compliments and affection as he did. Let Coriolanus kiss his belly more than once, and let him kiss his thighs while wiping away the semen with a damp towel. He ran his fingers through his blond hair. Sejanus didn't care about the team Coriolanus had sent to decorate the baby's room according to all of Sejanus's wishes, nor did he care about the dozens of pillows Coriolanus had sent to his room. He didn't care about the fancy and loose-fitting clothes that appeared in his wardrobe one day, nor did he care about the catalogs with baby clothes that Coriolanus sent him so Sejanus could handpick what he wanted for that child.
Sejanus only cared about this. About his husband loving him. And, in that moment, in the bathroom, he thought maybe he had gotten what he wanted. That now Coriolanus could come back home. He had to come back home. What was the point of doing all this if he wouldn't come back? If he wouldn't hug Sejanus that night?
Sejanus kissed his face again and again and again.
"I love you. I love you. I love you."
He spoke as if it were a prayer. He spoke so that he could absorb and understand how much Sejanus needed him. Because Coriolanus wanted that. Coriolanus forced that child inside him. And he wasn't there. He wasn't beside Sejanus in his bed, nor in the ultrasound, nor folding baby clothes. He wasn't by his side wiping away his tears when he felt pain, nor checking if Sejanus was eating properly.
Sejanus didn't want to let go of Coriolanus's hand to go to the set where he would do the photo shoot, but he had to. Coriolanus kissed his hand before Sejanus was led to his position. He looked for Coriolanus in the crowd of staff all the time, all the time. Until he finally lost sight of him. And his heart raced.
"Mr. First Husband, I need you to hold the pose, or..."
"Where's my husband?" Sejanus asked, his wide brown eyes scanning for his blue eyes. "Where's Coriolanus?"
"I don't..."
"He had to leave," one of the production assistants answered. "But he said he would call you, Mr. First Husband."
Sejanus ignored the director of photography calling him, and ignored the confused production assistants. He walked away from the set and grabbed his things. He ignored any and all attempts to call his name or try to make him come back. Sejanus wasn't going back. He went back home and lay on the bed. He stared at the ceiling. He cried until he fell asleep.
The baby kicked. It was as if he was mocking him.
To be honest, it wasn't a surprise that things had ended up this way, with Sejanus in a hospital bed after passing out.
Coriolanus was pushing him too hard. Sejanus was almost in the third trimester, his belly was too big, and the baby inside him was draining all his energy. He couldn't keep up with eight photo shoots per week. But Sejanus was also to blame for this. He didn't protest. Not when the photo shoots were the only times he could see his husband, the only times he could feel his husband's hands, the only times Coriolanus kissed and hugged him, the only times Sejanus didn't just hear his voice over the phone.
The photo shoots were killing him. Seeing his smiling face in advertisements spread throughout the Capitol, and surely throughout the Districts, was killing him. But not being able to have Coriolanus near him was killing him even more. That's why he let it continue. And that's why he woke up in the hospital bed, blinking slowly.
He grunted as he moved, feeling his back ache.
"Oh, Sejanus! You're awake! You scared everyone, didn't you?"
He looked at who had spoken in the room. Dr. Lysistrata Vickers was approaching him with a slight smile on her face, a clipboard in hand. Her braids were neatly tied in a bun.
"How are you feeling?" Lyssie asked, her tone much more of a friend than a doctor, standing by his side.
How was Sejanus feeling? After fainting from exhaustion, after have warned Coriolanus about it, after Coriolanus wasn't even there for him now that Sejanus had fainted?
"A little tired," his voice came out weak. "And Julius? Where is he?"
"Mrs. Plinth is in the reception, they're waiting for me to authorize their entry to visit you, but first, I wanted to do some tests. Everything is fine with your baby, by the way."
Sejanus couldn't help but feel guilty for not even asking about the baby inside him. The baby who didn't even have a name yet. He unconsciously placed a hand on his belly.
"But your stress level is... very high. Too high. I mentioned this before, didn't I? That maybe it would be better to reduce the number of photo shoots. They can be very harmful to your baby."
Sejanus shrugged. He had tried to talk to Coriolanus about this. Lyssie had surely tried to talk as well. But it was Coriolanus. And maybe that was part of the delicate and well-thought-out torture he was subjecting Sejanus to.
"After today's episode, I feel that... maybe it's better to suspend the photo shoots indefinitely."
He felt as if his heart had stopped.
"Coriolanus won't allow it."
"It's not a matter of allowing. It's a matter of necessity. I can't allow you as my patient to continue exposing yourself to this kind of risk."
He was exhausted. He needed rest. It was the ideal decision.
"I can't stop the photo shoots, Lyssie."
But where else would Sejanus see Coriolanus? Where else would Coriolanus kiss his face and let him snuggle against him? Where else could Sejanus continue trying to persuade him to come back?
They couldn't take that away from him. It was the only thing he had left.
"It's a medical order, Sejanus. For your sake and for the baby's sake. I'll be informing the president later today."
Well. It was a lesson he should have learned already. In his marriage to Coriolanus, Sejanus didn't get what he wanted.