1/3

… … …

Not for the first time that night, a rumbling noise cut through the walls of Kurt's bedroom. He pressed his lips together in an attempt to hold back a whine. "God," he snapped as a hoot then followed an echoing thump. "Enough already."

His eyebrows twitched, the muscles around Kurt's eyes and mouth pulling tight enough to ache. His face felt stuck in a surly expression; he couldn't remember how not to glare. He welcomed a rare moment of silence, one that was quickly interrupted by an eruption of... giggling. Voices flowed through the door from the adjacent room where a pair of dorks were heavily involved in some stupid video game. He sighed into the darkness, his jaw painfully stiff since he'd long lost the ability to unclench his teeth. Kurt rolled his eyes in exaggeration when he heard the commotion from a drawn-out shushing session. He inhaled deeply and tried to calm down, to let his breath out slo—

"Whoa, dude! Nice."

Shut up, Sam. He fluffed his pillow with a fist.

"Ha, take that. And take it again."

Kurt sat up in bed, red-faced and breathless. There was an enthusiastic shout, then a muffled string of f-bombs and "shit-balls." He gasped, feeling a sharp burst of activity from the equally fed-up fetus renting out his womb. Now they'd done it. A knot of anger finally unraveled in his chest and suddenly, Kurt's feet were on the floor. Well, at least the rush of anger numbed the dull pain in his hips and lower back from moving too quickly (/at all, really). He flung the door wide open and charged out awkwardly as ever due to a "slight" waddle (one he would deny). Holding a hand to the underside of his pregnant belly, he made a wobbly beeline for the entertainment system.

His husband spoke up first—a stupidly surprised utterance of, "Kurt?"

In his peripheral vision, Kurt noticed that Blaine had dropped his wireless controller and uncrossed his legs to rise from his seat. He ignored him in favor of unplugging Sam's game console from the wall. Sam's loud swearing fueled him; oh, it gave Kurt strength. He paused for dramatic effect before turning to face them, a scowl furrowing his brow.

"Bed," he commanded sternly. At least his growly voice rattled Blaine. He gaped at Kurt, visibly confused and maybe a little afraid. Sam just unfolded his long legs from under him and stretched them out, effectively taking over Blaine's abandoned spot on the couch. He seemed unfazed as he sipped from a can of beer. Kurt barked out another, "Bed," and gestured toward their bedroom. Blaine pointed a finger at himself in a silent question. "Hello, it is two-thirty in the morning. You have an an audition to be at in five hours, Blaine. And then, right after that? Work, you have work because you have a job. Why are you still staring at me? Go!"

Blaine, God love 'im, pouted and scoffed. He had scampered off wordlessly and all adorably, his eyes narrowed in a near petulant manner from Kurt's scolding. For only a split second, Kurt's mouth tilted into an amused half-smile at Blaine's ridiculous behavior. In thirteen weeks, they would be first-time parents. Parents, him and Blaine. In the meantime, he could cut his husband some slack. He couldn't blame Blaine for internally freaking out over the very new, very permanent roles they'd soon have to play—and without any kind of rehearsal or a script to follow. It's scary, he thought. And exciting. He and Blaine just had different ways of processing the anxiety that came with a life-changing event. As planned as the pregnancy was, they weren't any less nervous. Luckily for their marriage, there were a few things Kurt could bring himself to understand and/or excuse to a degree.

"Earth to Kurt. You gonna plug that back in or what?"

Sam camping out on their sofa for the past three weeks straight wasn't one of those 'things' to any degree. After all, Kurt had only agreed to a single weekend of Sam's company. Unfortunately for him, Blaine had been feeding into Sam's neediness after a rough break-up he'd had... like, months ago! Once again: enough already. Listen, the only baby Kurt wanted in his and Blaine's life was the one growing inside of him. He rested a hand on his stomach, his gaze softening. This was their baby, the very one they'd spent fourteen months trying to create together—this was the helpless human life who needed their full attention. Not Sam.

He'd worked himself up, he realized belatedly as the baby shifted against the curve of his hand. Kurt tucked his chin down, a soft "shh" leaving his mouth.

Sam squinted at him, appearing mildly offended. "Did you just?"

Kurt blinked sleepily, too tired to keep scratching at the build-up of irritation under his skin.

He enunciated Sam's name sharply and then a, "Goodnight." He hoped his tone left no room for argument. There was a beat of silence and Kurt smiled prematurely.

"Wait, really?"

Kurt could only close his eyes; he squeezed them shut and felt the defeat of hot tears prickling at the backs of his eyelids.

"Come on, Kurt. I'm not even tired yet."

He sniffed. That's because you sleep in till noon everyday, you bum.

Oh, Blaine just knew. His blinders must've finally fallen off because he was suddenly at his husband's side. He touched Kurt's elbow and stroked his other hand down the slope of his back. There was a look on Blaine's face that clearly read don't hurt him and, in response to Kurt's own expression, his gulp plead a nay: don't hurt me!

Blaine's big, beautiful eyes were warm and apologetic. They didn't stray away from Kurt, who leaned into him. "Goodnight, Sam."

Sam dragged out an airy sigh and then agreed with a shrug and a mumbled, "Alright."

Kurt's shoulders dropped.

"You're the good cop," he whispered once they were in their bedroom and Blaine had chased the cat off Kurt's body pillow. His breath shortened, his voice weakening as he continued. "I'm the bad cop. Our child is going to hate me and love you."

Blaine shook his head and pulled a face in protest. He turned toward him while emitting the sassiest "uh-uh" Kurt had ever heard. He shuffled in close, his mouth finding Kurt's without pause. "Impossible," he insisted after another gentle kiss. He took Kurt's hand and pressed more lingering kisses along the ridges of his knuckles. Blaine then guided their tangled fingers down to the adored 'bump' nestled between them. "More than once," he confessed, "I've had that exact opposite thought."

Sergeant Pepper, the notorious pillow-stealing feline, purred as she rubbed her hairless body along one of Kurt's calves. She had been re-adopted by them after a "personality clash" with her original owner, the one and only Rachel Berry. He glanced up from the cat, a tilt to his chin. He was hesitant to meet Blaine's affectionate gaze.

He swayed his shoulders as he questioned, "You have?"

Blaine frowned. "Uh, yeah. You're so you, Kurt. I just know you're going to be an amazing father. And me, I'm so..." He scrunched his nose. "Me."

Again, Kurt deflated. Disappointment washed over him, then made an illegal U-turn and slapped him across the face. It hurt, the petty sadness because the conversation had steered away from him; the dismay of learning Blaine had doubts in himself as a parent. It even burned, the regret from his apparent obliviousness to his husband's negative feelings. Within a few blinks, his eyes had gone misty and his face felt hot with a flush of frustration. He had only been fishing for a hearty serving of praise that he could preen under while telling Blaine to shush while motioning for him to continue.

"Don't—" He stopped, startled by the sound of his voice cracking. "Don't do that."

His swollen ankles and aching calf muscles took it upon themselves to decide they were done with the whole "standing" thing. Kurt let go of Blaine and backed away slowly, taking small steps until the backs of his legs found the edge of their bed. He sat down heavily, groaning over Blaine's too-slow offer of help. To Kurt, this pregnancy was ruthless; it took everything he had to give and still wanted more from him. Merciless, it drained him physically and mentally. It was like his brain had been completely rewired and now his energy could only go toward overreacting emotionally to literally anything—yesterday he'd had a crying fit over Blaine asking how many packets of sugar he wanted in his tea.

Blaine's mouth fell open, his eyes widening slightly. "No, no, no. I didn't mean—" He stalled and then glanced off to the side, his eyebrows frozen where they were arched high on his forehead. "I just meant... I don't know?" He sighed, his face relaxing into a timid smile. "I worry, Kurt. That's nothing new and you definitely do not need to worry about me worrying." Blaine lowered himself to sit beside his fretting husband. Facing him, he leaned in and touched the side of Kurt's face gently. His other hand caressed the front of Kurt's warm belly. "Anyway, it's way past this baby girl's bedtime."

Kurt smiled, his heart giving a flutter at 'baby girl.' The lines around his wobbling mouth deepened. "I do, too. Worry." He skimmed his fingertips along the back of Blaine's hand when it paused from rubbing circles above where their unborn daughter stirred for attention. "Sometimes about the birth," he admitted. "Okay, a lot about the birth—but mostly, I worry about her; her health and the future. Her future. God, Blaine. I get these overwhelming thoughts about her safety in this big, crazy world. I watch too much of the news and it makes me sick, makes me ask myself: 'what are we bringing her into?'"

"Oh, honey. We are bringing her into a caring environment where she has two daddies who aren't only going to protect her, but raise her to take care of herself."

Kurt sniffed, his fingers now sliding around Blaine's wrist to give it a quick squeeze. "And to think for herself. I want her voice to be heard."

"Of course," Blaine concurred with a shaky nod and a sniff of his own. Kurt looked up in surprise, not realizing the emotional effect he'd had on his husband.

"You are you," he agreed belatedly. "And thank whatever God for that. We're equal partners here, Blaine. This kid is going to need both of us and I couldn't imagine raising her without you."

Blaine looked ready to cry, his face close to crumpling. At least it would be a happy ugly-cry. Kurt was mostly relieved he had apparently said the right thing. Hormones occasionally clouded his judgement.

The bedroom door suddenly creaked open, an awful sound. Sam poked his head into the room, not pausing to knock. "Uh, guys? Can I have the password to the Wi-Fi again?"

"We were having a moment, Sam."

Yes, very good. Kurt was pleased to note the irritation etched into Blaine's expression. This your fault, he wanted to say in sing-song.

Sam blinked. "No one's naked. How could I have possibly interrupted anything?"

Enough already x3, Kurt's mind screamed as his blood pressure surely skyrocketed.

"Is he for real?" Kurt had to snap, absolutely had to. "Like, is this some kind of Candid Camera parenting test? To learn patience and crap? I am freakin' failing, if so."

'I am so sorry,' Blaine mouthed at Kurt while holding an opened hand over his heart—as if that made the apology more sincere. Kurt wasn't buying it, nope! Not yet, anyway. His forgiveness would have to be earned... with foot rubs. Blaine pushed off the bed to stand and nearly tripped over Sergeant Pepper. She hopped up to sit in the warm spot his body had left. "Sam, come on. We need to talk."

Blaine opened the door the rest of the way and shooed Sam back into the living room. Kurt threw a sour look at Sam's back for his inquiry of, "Was it something I said?"

Kurt breathed out slowly through his nose. The door was shut gently behind them, leaving him alone with his frustrated thoughts and a dizziness that lingered for a moment too long. He promised aloud to his unborn daughter that he was calming down now, slowly but surely. He listened to the sound of voices, the murmurs on the other side of the door quietening.

He waited a while longer, but then had to rise with such an urgency that he spooked the cat off the bed. "Sorry, Sarge!" He moaned an, "Ohh, boy. Off the bladder, sweetheart. Off the bladder."

Kurt hurried into the nearby bathroom, grateful that Blaine had left it propped open with a dolphin paperweight after Kurt had blindly dashed smack into the closed door the other night. Blaine had even plugged in a nightlight for him, as if the small smudge of a bruise on his forehead wasn't embarrassing enough.

Hands washed and smelling like cherries, Kurt returned to an empty bed. He pouted, heaving an obnoxiously loud sigh. He climbed in, careful and slow. It always took him a while to get situated, never mind comfortable. He tucked a pillow under his protruding belly. Behind him, Sergeant Pepper made her presence known by nudging a cold nose into the back of his knee.

"Yes?" he asked patiently, showing her his hand so she could sniff it and then rub her whiskers against his fingers.

Minutes later, a severe lack of Blaine in their bed was making Kurt grumpy. He frowned, wondering if Blaine was busy helping Sam pack up the belongings that he had strewn about everywhere.

But then Kurt's ears picked up on a laugh.

"You've got to be—"

He almost threw pillows, which would've undone the perfected but still time-consuming support system Kurt had built around his aching body. He struggled to sit up, his attempts woefully unsuccessful.

"Ah!" he cried out, taken back by a cramp in his calf. He inhaled sharply, nearly choking on a breath. "Ow, ow. Sh—sugar."

"Kurt?" Now, now that stupid door opened and Blaine actually ran in, to him. He crouched down beside the bed. "What's wrong, honey?"

Sam peered over Blaine's shoulder. "Should I call an ambulance? Oh, fuck."

"D—don't curse in front of the b—baby!" Kurt scolded through the painful muscle spasm in his lower leg. He grabbed a fistful of Blaine's Star Wars t-shirt. "Dammit, Blaine. Help me, help me s—stand up. Ow, cramp. Cramp, cramp, cramp."

Blaine knew getting Kurt on his feet could sometimes stop the muscle cramp. Knew because he was the one always annoying Kurt with all of his online findings. Yeah, as if Kurt couldn't Google.

"'Dammit' is a swear word," Sam pointed out unhelpfully.

"Not now, Sam." It took effort for him to get Kurt standing, especially since Kurt fought him a little. He didn't take it personally—couldn't. "Lean into me if you need to," he whispered into Kurt's hair. "It's okay."

Kurt just pouted and whined another, "Ow."

"Ow," Blaine agreed softly.

Sam eventually cleared his throat. "Now I'm interrupting a moment."

If he didn't think he'd fall over and flatten his child, Kurt would stomp a foot. Or kick him. Blaine sighed into his ear, huffing along with Kurt. They growled in unison, "Good night, Sam."

"Alright, alright." Already shuffling back to his makeshift bed on the couch, he grumbled mostly to himself, "Don't have to tell me twice."

Rolling his eyes, Kurt sought out to pinch the fleshy underside of Blaine's upper arm.

"Ow!"

"Yeah," he droned, "Ow."

… … …

Later that day, Kurt was in the middle of sinking his teeth into a heavily frosted cinnamon roll when he received a phone call from his agent, Harriet Glazer. His people had teased Vogue with a sneak peek of his newest jewelry line and now a meeting had been set up regarding a multi-page exclusive on the entire fall collection. He cheered over the details, his yay an understatement. After several years of designing jewelry for an upscale department store, the limitations on his creative input had driven Kurt to quit and focus on his own line. The buzz-worthy debut of Hummel Brag had paid for the down payment on their townhouse and a cruise vacation for him and his cutie.

"Oh, my God! I can't believe—ooh, the baby's kicking like crazy." Hitching a shoulder up to hold the cell phone against his ear, he busied both of his hands by rubbing them over his wide belly in circles. Calm down, little bumblebee. "She must be happy for daddy, is that right?"

Harriet's laugh was gently sarcastic. "She's happy for herself. Princess wants a cushy life."

Kurt hummed in agreement, his fingers back to gripping the phone. He rolled his shoulders repeatedly to loosen up after feeling a twinge in the muscle above his shoulder blade. He mentally added massage to Blaine's non-existent to-do list. "That's the goal," he said through a slight wince as more pain throbbed throughout his mid-back. Addendum: full-body massage.

"Uh-huh, that's my goal. Yours is to finish what you started. We've got a lot of work to get done before you snap, crackle, and pop. I'll handle this meeting and let you—"

"Um," instantly flew out of Kurt's mouth. "I am going to this meeting, Harriet." The hesitance on her end made him feel nauseous. His fresh cinnamon rolls no longer looked appetizing. "Unless you know something I don't."

There was another pause. "You're seven months pregnant."

He rolled his eyes as he gasped, "I'm what?! Are you sure? D—does Blaine know, too?"

Harriet just sighed. "I figured you wouldn't be up to it. You are paying me to represent you, Kurt. Let me do my job."

"And let me do mine. Also: Honey, you thought I'd turn down a meeting with freakin' Vogue?" Shifting weight from one leg to the other, he leaned his hip against the side of the kitchen counter. "Knock on wood, but this has been a healthy pregnancy. As of right now, I'm still working my full-time hours and I am excited to do this, all of it. It's what I... live for." He finished in almost a timid manner, the words not tasting right on his tongue.

"I can handle this," she insisted.

"I can handle this."

"Blaine is easier to deal with than you," Harriet then snapped without any heat.

Speak of the devil and... While licking the remnants of vanilla frosting off a serving spoon, Kurt heard the jingling of keys from the next room.

"No way. Have you—" Kurt crinkled his nose, his sweet and sticky mouth pinched to keep from smiling as Blaine appeared in the kitchen. "Met my husband? What a diva. Oh, hello. I didn't hear you come in, Blaine."

Blaine only shook his head, the grin on his face mostly hidden as he ducked down to greet Kurt's stomach with a kiss. As he rose, he intentionally pulled up on the curved hem of Kurt's shirt so Kurt would swat at him. Instead, Kurt stole the styrofoam cup of presumably coffee out of his hand. He took long sips (yup, coffee) in-between asking Harriet to either e-mail or text message him the full particulars regarding his upcoming Vogue adventure. He wanted to load the information into the calendar on his iPhone. "Pregnancy brain," he reminded her. Now he swatted at his husband for making a snorting sound.

"You mean your selective pregnancy brain? Come on, it does tend to kick in at the most conveniently random times, like when—"

Kurt shut him up with a glare. Once he hung up with Harriet, he pointed the spoon threateningly at Blaine (who pretended to cower). "Can it, inseminator. It's your job to find me precious and downright perfect in every darned way until—uh, well? For the rest of my... no, no. That's a loophole. For the rest of your life."

"Yeah, yeah." Blaine's tongue peeked out from between his lips to wet the pad of his thumb. Cupping Kurt's chin in one hand, he struggled to get Kurt to keep his head still as he scrubbed at a spot of icing at the corner of Kurt's mouth. "Don't worry, I read all of the fine print before I signed the contract."

"Mm, what a romantic response." Kurt had already pulled away from him and now he inched his way closer to pick up the opened tub of whipped frosting. He dipped his spoon inside, surprised to find that it was nearly empty. Oops? He would soon give birth to a beautiful cube of sugar. Disappointed, he set the container back down. "You coulda done more with that."

"You started it," Blaine huffed. "'Inseminator' is the least sexiest endearment ever."

He had a point, Kurt guessed. "I don't... not disagree."

Blaine squinted an eye. "That's a double negative."

Kurt sounded outrageously offended as he declared, "You're a double negative!"

"Come here, you." Completely and hopelessly smitten by Kurt's childish retort, Blaine crowded him at once. Kurt's head tipped back as he snorted out a laugh at a new dance move they accidentally created while attempting to fit their bodies snug against one another. His lips were teased by Blaine's before he pushed up onto the balls of his feet and planted a loud kiss on Kurt's nose.

"Give me a real kiss," Kurt demanded after making a grumbling noise that got a chuckle out of Blaine.

"Oh, like a real kiss on the cheek?" He kissed him there. "Or a real kiss on the chin? Or a real kiss on—?"

Crashing their lips together in a dramatic fashion, Kurt hummed an impatient mmhmm against Blaine's mouth. Blaine mimicked the sound, smiling into a more gentle—yet not any less desperate—kiss. Kurt grasped for a fistful of Blaine's t-shirt, his other palm cupping the back of his neck.

He broke the kiss to accuse, "You're ridiculous." He then immediately attempted to drag Blaine in again. Except, this time, Blaine's mouth slid lower and lower until he could nip at the hinge of Kurt's jaw, suckle and kiss along the column of his neck. Eyelids fluttering, he moaned—music to Blaine's ears; the sound spurred his actions.

Kurt almost giggled at how badly his entire body was tingling with unadulterated want. "Oh, my god." He was close to wheezing. He let go of Blaine to fan both hands at his deeply flushed face. "You can still make me feel drunk." Like a teenager; virgin. (The fetus turned over in his womb at the latter simile).

"'Drunk'? Oh, no. That doesn't sound good for the baby."

Kurt frowned at his husband's continued display of unapologetic ridiculousness. He reached over to press his finger down on a stray curl of Blaine's hair. It had stubbornly sprung up from his gelled-back coif.

"I am ridiculous," Blaine had to agree cheerily.

My husband is ridiculously handsome, Kurt thought. It's freakin' offensive, I'm so angry. Yet, he smiled like a loon (if anything, a lustful loon).

"Hey? I've got fantastical news. Hot off the press."

"Hey, hey. Let me get a guess in this time—you're pregnant?"

Ignoring him and his cheesy smile, Kurt continued. "But I must insist, you first. How did your audition go?"

An off beat of silence. Blaine's eyebrows had jumped, resulting in a 'V' forming between Kurt's. "Oh, yeah. The audition I went to, um. That went, it went... well?" He stepped away, moving toward the cupboard where their glassware was stored.

How could somebody be such an amazing performer and yet such, such a terrible liar? Kurt breathed out a soft, "Okay." He smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt from earlier, when Blaine had tugged at it. "Was Artie there? Tina said they weren't sure if—"

Blaine exhaled slowly, wincing as if in pain. He opened the door to the cabinet and then shut it. "I didn't go to the audition for the production Artie is directing," he admitted. "Sam—"

Oh, of course. "Oh, my god!" Kurt groaned in frustration. He jerked away from Blaine after he closed the distance he had just created to reach for Kurt's elbow. The back of his hand accidentally smacked into the can of frosting, knocking it loudly into the sink. They both flinched at the same time.

"Sam heard about this... other audition from a friend and it sounded like fun, but it was at the same time as the other one, so I had to... choose." Throughout his 'explanation,' Blaine had stared down in a wide-eyed fascination at his shoes.

"'Sounded like fun,'" Kurt echoed flatly. "Y—you blew off a for real audition for a for fun one? You've got to be kidding me. What is the matter with you, Blaine?" He clenched his jaw, not letting that delightful fluttery sensation in his belly distract him. "It's nice to know you're taking your career seriously. Second chances are, in fact, by chance."

"You're lecturing me?" Anger flashed in Blaine's eyes, but that fire was quickly extinguished; his facial expression softened into concern as he stared at Kurt. "Please sit down, your face is so very red."

Too late, his emotions had had enough time to flare up and erupt out of his endocrine system like a volcano of intense feelings. Kurt wasn't happy or proud about bursting into tears.

"Why would you do that?" His voice shook, along with his vision.

Blaine's shoulders rose into a forcefully casual shrug. "Sam said we were identical hand twins and apparently that's really rare."

"Oh, my god."

"I'm joking, Kurt. Kind of." He took his pregnant husband's limp hand, relieved he hadn't moved away this time. "It was an impulsive, stupid—"

Kurt sniffed. "Very stupid," he amended on Blaine's behalf.

"—idea, and I realize that. Hey, look at me." He squeezed his fingers around Kurt's. Kurt's wet gaze lifted up from their joined hands. "I'm really, truly sorry. I am going to call Artie and I will fix this. It won't happen again, either. You have my word."

"'K," was Kurt's mumbled reply while his brain snapped a venomous damn fucking right. He then issued a frantic apology to the fetus for swearing, just in case.

Blaine worried his lower lip between his teeth, not looking any less lost or panicked. "So, tell me. What's your news?" He tried too hard to sound chipper and the sudden change in both tone and topic started Kurt.

"Does it matter?" Kurt's sigh formed into a yawn. He let go of Blaine's hand. "I need to go lie down. I feel too drained to even brag."

Blaine choked out Kurt's name.

Kurt glanced around the kitchen, his gaze landing everywhere but on Blaine. "Clean up for me, will you?"

"Kurt, please." Once again, he reached out for Kurt. On second thought, his arm fell back down to his side. He knew better. "Please don't be mad."

"Not mad, just disappointed." Now Kurt, he happened to be a fantastic liar because he was mad as hell. He still couldn't look Blaine in the eye, not when he was swallowing back a mouthful of furious word vomit. Very soon, he wanted to snap, we are going to have a child we need to provide for and you choose now to goof off, seriously? Kurt repeated, "I need to go lie down." No, what he needed was a pitcher of rum and diet cola (and one twisty straw). Blaine said his name again, growing more upset. Kurt knew exactly how to get him to back off for a while. "Don't want to argue, it's making me dizzy." He had barely spoken above a whisper.

It worked—Blaine opened his mouth and then closed it. He nodded his head. "Okay. Go lie down, honey."

It hadn't occurred to Kurt that he might actually fall asleep. Curled up on his side in bed, he had drifted off into a light slumber. It was a creaking noise that later roused him from a dream. He squinted his eyes open, unsurprised to find Blaine leaning against the doorframe, where he lingered patiently; waiting. When Kurt didn't say anything, just continued blinking into the dim light of their bedroom, Blaine toed off his sequin boat shoes and slipped in behind Kurt. His chest pressed to Kurt's back, he rested an arm over Kurt's wait and caressed his hand along the sweet curve of his belly.

Kurt traced his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. After a pause, he huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. "Ahh-ha, feel that? Feel her?"

"That's our girl, movin' around all impatiently like she's got some place better to be." He hooked his chin over Kurt's shoulder.

"She does, in my arms. Oh. Yours too, I guess. But I get to hold her first, obviously."

"Obviously," Blaine agreed. "Go ahead, go back to sleep."

If only. "I kind of need to pee first, actually."

Getting up was tough, even with an extra set of hands. "If it's this difficult now, what's it going to be like when I'm at nine months? Heck, or even eight?"

Blaine stayed quiet, a wise decision.

Kurt's swaying, slow-moving gait nearly hid his limp. The position he had napped in hadn't been comfortable for his hips and lower back and boy, were they ever letting him know. "I'm a swollen mess," he muttered to himself.

Blaine's voice echoed off the tiles as he called out to Kurt, "You're not any kind of mess!"

"People with penises who aren't messes," he hollered right back, "don't have to sit down to pee."

Blaine was upright when Kurt returned, perched on the bed with his hands in his lap. He looked up as Kurt neared him and spilled, "I'm sorry. I almost called you, but then didn't. I knew you'd set me straight and I wanted to go off with Sam and have fun at a ridiculous audition. It kind of felt good at the time, in the moment. Afterwords, not so much. I was, like—um, why did I do that? Maybe I'm going through a mid, mid-life crisis. People kept saying how things are gonna change once the baby's here and I, I thought—" He glanced down, shaking his head. "It wasn't fair to you and you have every right to be upset with me. I am sorry, Kurt."

Kurt hoped offering Blaine a smile would keep those gorgeous eyes from spilling any tears. If Blaine cried, he would have to, too. He nudged at Blaine's barefoot with his own, gesturing for him to spread his knees. He stepped in-between Blaine's thighs and, while Blaine palmed the sides of his stomach, he bent down uncomfortably to kiss Blaine's forehead.

"Give me a real kiss."

Kurt barked out a laugh. He cupped Blaine's face, his thumbs stroking across his cheeks. As they kissed, Blaine had to lock his legs around Kurt's thighs to keep him from losing balance. If their bed wasn't so high off the floor, he would've fallen over already. They were both ready to dissolve into laughter at their increasingly awkward positioning, but then Kurt's demanding tongue was at the wet seam of Blaine's lips again and he just let himself groan audibly.

He pulled away, his gaze stuck on Kurt's mouth. "You, me. Too."

"What?"

There was something almost shy about Blaine's smile. He lowered his voice as if he were about to share a secret. "You still make me feel drunk, too."

"Of course I do." Kurt's smirk was a cocky and yet playful one. "It's my intoxicating personality." He dipped his head down to brush their lips together as Blaine rolled his eyes.

… … …