As long as they're together, He Ming feels a little better. As long as Cehd'ra's with him, he has someone to kiss and touch and embrace as the movement inside of him intensifies.

"Don't cry," he whispers, while he chokes back a whimper of his own. He kisses his cheek and shuts his eyes again as the mass inside of him moves again, changing shape from spherical to something shapeless. "I think it's hatching. That means it'll be over soon, right? Okay?"

With an effort He Ming cranes his neck, moving enough to lick at the corner of Cehd'ra's mouth instead of only kissing his cheek. As their arms are around each other He Ming feels warmer and more grounded. He tastes salt from his sweat, the flavor of his skin fantastically musky on his tongue.

A rush of wet slick leaks out between He Ming's legs as the last of the shell gives. The keen that leaves his mouth makes his throat hurt. "It's going to come out," he gasps. "It's moving because it's alive."

Cehd'ra's tail gets no breaks at all. Even as the eggshell within him disintegrates, leaving a mess of fluid and fist-sized, squirming ball of tentacles in him, the appendages of the parent creature apply firm pressure to the base of his tail in a sinewy coil.