"No. Absolutely not."
You sigh yet again at Claude's resistance while absentmindedly rubbing a hand over your swollen belly, "But, it's a nice name; and it'll age well! One that'd be cute when he's little but still suitable for when he's grown!"
"No," he gives you that look, the one that was meant to be intimidating. But, unfortunately for Phillip's High Steward, you'd long ago become immune to the gaze that made even the strongest of grown men quiver. "We are not naming our child after the antichrist."
"Damien is not the name of the antichrist!"
"That horrific film that you forced me to sit through seems to have slipped your mind," he counters.
You sigh, slightly amused. "It was just a movie, Claude!" you tell him, small grin plastered to your face due to your husband's absurdity, "And, they just happened to name the little boy Damien."
"Yes. They just happened to name the murderous spawn of satan Damien. Absolutely nothing to be alarmed or concerned about," his voice is filled with satire.
You shake your head at his farce; steadfast in your determination, you press on, "Do you know what Damien means?"
"I don't care what it means. I won't allow you to name our son that."
Undeterred by his harsh response, you continue, "It means 'to tame'. And, you're all about rules, so I figured you would like it," that comment got you another glare.
"Why do you insist upon that name?"
"Because I like it," you state matter-of-factly. Wrapping your arms around his torso, you pull your bodies as close together as your pregnant belly will allow.
You tilt your head back in order to look at him, "What would you like me to call him? Fetus?" you reply, sarcastically. "We could call him Tussie for short."
"You're not funny."
"There are plenty people that think I'm funny. Just because you're too dense to see how humorous I truly am doesn't mean I'm not," you tell him, pressing a kiss to his chin.
"Prince Alan is only seven years old and thinks everything is funny. He doesn't count."
"What about-"
"Prince Roberto is more easily amused than Prince Alan; he doesn't count, either."
You silence him with a kiss. And, you briefly wonder if your son will be this much of a smart alec.
"You're still not funny," he whispers against your lips. That pretty shade of pink that you'd come to adore, dusts his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.
"Y-" he cuts of your retort, returning your kiss from several moments ago, with one of his own. You grip the lapels of his jacket as his lips slide across yours-
You both jump at the sharp kick from inside of you. Claude's eyes are wide as he stares down at you, and you have to bite back a giggle at his surprise. No matter how many times he felt the baby move, Claude seemed to always be caught off guard when your unborn son chose to make his presence known.
"Awww, looks like Damien is excited to be by his daddy," you smile up at Claude, very aware of the antagonizing words that just left your lips. But, you couldn't help it; he was just too easy to tease.
He returns your soft gaze with a glare, clearly not amused.
It was your turn to be surprised when he suddenly dropped to his knees in front of you. He stares at your midsection for a moment before palming it. The baby gives another kick, making contact with Claude's left hand. He smiles softly, a look that he'd reserved especially for you; and, now, for your child as well.
In a rare display of affection, he nuzzles his face against your protruding belly. Placing a kiss right above your bellybutton.
"So, you really won't let me name him Damien?" you watch Claude eagerly, hoping that you're giving him the look that seemed to always work in your favor. The gaze that had him bending to your whims in a heartbeat.
He smiles softly at you, and you were sure that you'd gotten your way.
"No."
Dammit.
