Media: Fic

Title: A Nonsensical Turning Point (1/6)

Rating: R

Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, minor Finn/Rachel

Spoilers: None

Warnings: MPREG, mentions of miscarriage and abortion (not directly Klaine-related)

Word Count: ~6.5k (this part)

Summary: AU MPREG future!fic where both Blaine and Kurt have their own way of dealing with and preparing for a surprise that has come sooner than expected.

Author's Note: Please loosen your grasp on reality if you choose to read this, haha. It's all very absurd. I'm working on chapter 5 right now (just passed 28k, oy) with six chapters and possibly an epilogue planned.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.




"Blaine Anderson!"

Blaine awoke with a jerk, choking on a snore. "Huh, what?" He immediately pushed up on his elbows, his pillow quietly slipping over the edge of the bed. "Kurt?" Blaine hesitantly croaked out from where he was kneeling in the middle of the bed, back arched tight as he held in a breath. He flinched when the room suddenly flooded with a bright light, and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Look what you've done." Kurt stood in the doorway of their bedroom, the hem of his blue t-shirt bunched up under his armpits. Blaine poorly attempted to hide a proud grin by busying his mouth with a yawn. Kurt scoffed, hands wildly gesturing at his distended abdomen. "I can't hide this, not anymore." Blaine sat back, legs swinging out in front of him.

"I thought we agreed to only keep quiet 'til you got through the first trimester." Kurt was nearly two and a half weeks into his second trimester, and Blaine was positively bursting at the seams to finally announce the news to their friends and family that they were expecting. "Kurt," Blaine sighed out in a disappointed tone. Silent responses were never encouraging. Kurt slowly shuffled forward, loosening the drawstring of his cream-colored pajama bottoms with one swift tug. With each step, the waistband slipped lower and lower down his hips.

"I know, but come on." Kurt's arms dropped down to his sides, fingers restlessly flexing in and out. "I've got three months left in this internship, and I really want the job." He pursed his lips together, dark thoughts creeping through his mind. He was totally going to be looked over in favor of stupid Janice, his frizzy-haired co-intern and unworthy rival, and her vacant uterus. He looked up from pouting at the carpeted floor to find Blaine watching him with a fond, yet exasperated expression.

"But come on, sweetheart. Really? You're not going to be any less pregnant in three months. In fact..." Blaine rolled his eyes as he trailed off, puffing out his cheeks. An indignant squeak erupted from the back of Kurt's throat, and he gritted his teeth. He scrambled to pick up Blaine's discarded pillow from the ground, hissing out as he swung it at his fiancé's head. Blaine rolled onto his side, his cheek pressed into the mattress. "I'm not wrong," he laughed out from under the pillow.

Kurt laid back on the bed, sock-clad feet hanging over the side, and pulled his shirt down over his stomach. He sharply blew air out at a white feather as it gracefully floated above them, fingers drumming around his navel. He grazed his top teeth over his bottom lip, cringing as he replayed their conversation in his head. "I really wanted the job," he corrected after a moment of comfortable silence; he hoped the admittance would clean out the bad taste from his mouth. The pregnancy hadn't been planned, but it wasn't unwanted. "We'll be in Lima for Christmas in two weeks." He lazily poked at Blaine's backside. "I'd really like to see their reactions, especially my dad's. Is that OK?"

"Of course, silly." Blaine shoved the pillow off his head, and shifted onto his side so that he was facing Kurt. "I think framed sonogram pictures would make an excellent stocking stuffer for the grandparents, don't you?" He rested his hand over Kurt's stomach, fingers splayed. "Oh, and this is barely a post-Thanksgiving dinner bloat. I think you could easily continue getting away with well-positioned scarves until after the New Year."

"I could, yes." Kurt closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm tired of scarves. I'm tired of strategizing with layers to hide my muffin top, and it's so stuffy at the office. I was close to glistening last week, and it was on the one day where Janice managed to tame her Irish 'fro, and I can't have her looking better than me."

There were many things that Kurt had just said that Blaine wanted touch upon with more detail ("Muffin top"? "Glistening"? He wondered if, instead of the "Everyone Poops" book, he could get Kurt a copy of "Everyone Perspires"), but he was more worried about what Kurt hadn't said. "Are you... Kurt, please tell me you're not saying you want to tell work before family about the baby."

Kurt narrowed his eyes, looking mildly offended. "What? No, no way. What I'm saying is, quite simply, that I'm not going to hide this—" He pointedly caressed his fingertips down the back of Blaine's hand. "—anymore. I'll just go without official confirmation of my expectant status until after the holidays. I imagine there will be assumptions made to and behind my back, but whatever. Let 'em talk, you know?" The corners of his mouth tugged down sharply when Blaine chuckled.

"You mean to get them talking, right? You don't fool me, Mr. Hummel, I see that brainstorm brewing behind your eyes." Blaine leaned in for a kiss, eyes closed, and slid his hand up Kurt's chest. "Your gorgeous eyes," he sighed into Kurt's mouth once he parted his lips. Kurt hummed contently, mouth opening up enough for Blaine's tongue to slip inside, and—Blaine pulled back abruptly, snorting out a loud laugh. "What the hell were you eating?" He cupped a hand to Kurt's warm cheek, pressing their foreheads together after Kurt weakly pushed at his shoulder.

"I can't help it. I sometimes get cravings that even you can't satisfy," Kurt lowly mumbled out in an attempt to speak without parting his lips too much.

"That is because I'm not a big 'n spicy taco." There was a joke at the tip of his tongue about how he wouldn't be surprised if their baby was born all bundled up in a tortilla shell with extra sour cream on the side, but Blaine was wary about how close Kurt's knee was to his crotch. Kurt took his Mexican food very seriously, even at... His back muscles ached in protest as he awkwardly twisted around to glance at the time. "Are you kidding me? It's three in the morning, Kurt."

Kurt nodded his head, the tip of his nose skimming across Blaine's. "It is," he dully confirmed in a 'thank you, Captain Obvious' tone. "I heard it's, like, fact that re-heated leftovers taste best at 2:30 A.M."

"That sounds like something Finn would say." Blaine hummed, mostly to himself, and looked puzzled. Oh where, oh where has my little Kurt gone, oh where oh where can he be?

"Who do you think told me?"

After a few (and then a "few more") kisses and a grumbled complaint from Blaine about how he had to get up in two hours to work a seven to seven shift, they settled under the covers. It wasn't long until the small room was filled with Blaine's soft snores. Kurt was lying stretched out on his back, absently chewing at a thumbnail. He frowned when he realized what he was doing—since when do I bite my nails? But rather than stopping, he bit down harder.

You can do this. He mentally prepared his outfit for work, suddenly unsure if the fluttering in the pit of his stomach was from nerves or nausea. You have to.


Blaine sat crossed-legged on a computer chair at the nurse's station in the Emergency Department, sipping on cold coffee while updating a patient's medication list in their chart. He sighed loudly against the stained rim of the Styrofoam cup, glancing sideways when he felt a pair of eyes boring into him. Santana was sitting nearby on a stool, a gossip magazine stolen from the waiting room opened on her lap atop a blank chart. "What?"

"I thought you were supposed to turn into a zombie after the baby's born, not before." She flashed a wicked smile at him, her eyebrows quirking up. "Unless it's the pregnancy hormones keeping you up, hmm?" She squinted at him, pushing off a cluttered desk to wheel herself closer, and frowned. "Nah, that ain't the face of a guy who was up all night gettin' some."

He dropped his pen, flustered, and looked around for anyone who might've overheard. The closest person to them was a hospital volunteer, Becky, who was busily stapling insurance packets together. Blaine turned back to Santana, barely dodging a razor-sharp eyeroll that was thrown at him.

"Seriously? You gays—" She shook her head to the side, and Blaine swore he heard the rattle of a loose screw, "guys are still keeping it on the DL? Way to give your fetus a complex."

Blaine felt his eyelid twitch. He leaned forward on his elbows, fingers clasped together. "I should never have told you." He tilted his head back, weary gaze concentrating up to avert any eye contact with Nurse Medusa over to his right.

"Don't discredit me, Anderson. I found out on my own, remember?" He didn't need to look at her to know she was wearing one hell of a smug smirk. "I am the Latina Sherlock Holmes, bitch. You can't hide anything from me."

"Eavesdropping on my private conversation with Dr. Fabray hardly—" All it had taken was one throwaway line from Kurt's doctor for Santana's jaw to drop. Having had made an incorrect assumption, she'd kept quiet for two days with her head cocked to the side and glossed lips pensively pursed as she checked Blaine out from every angle. The only thing she had been able to decide on, for fuckin' sure, was that his scrubs were much too loose-fitting. "I can't take it!" She'd finally snapped at him in the middle of a shift, "you knocked up or not?" He had refused to deny or confirm anything for over a week, but she'd finally ended up spotting him in a bar with a beer to his lips.

Santana flicked at his earlobe, smiling when he blindly swatted at her hand. "Boy, you trippin'. There's no such thing as a 'private conversation' in an elevator." She picked up his discarded pen, clicking the ink cartridge in and out of its plastic shell. "So, like, what's the deal? You're keeping it, right? It's definitely too late to 'nip it in the bud,' but does Kurt know that?" Blaine's head whipped to the side, jaw clenched. Santana quickly moved back in her chair, the pen slipping out from between her fingers.

"Do you—?" He snapped out as she defensively stated, "I didn't mean—" Becky looked up from her twin piles of stacked paper, her eyes nervously darting from one nurse to the other before she hesitantly held up a stapler.

"I'm out," she told them, waving the stapler for emphasis as she verified, "of staples."

"Then we'll go get you some," Blaine forced out in a too-cheerful tone with one hell of a strained smile, his nostrils flaring. He wrapped his fingers around Santana's wrist, pulling her up with him when he jumped to his feet. Santana bowed her head, chin tucked to chest, and nosily shuffled her feet as she was dragged into a supply closet at the end of the corridor. The heavy door clicked shut behind them.

"Why would you even say that?" He demanded to know, a mixture of anger and annoyance brightly flickering in his eyes. Blaine had gotten to know Santana pretty well after two years of working with her, and had also gotten used to brushing off her remarks. She liked to press buttons, liked to see what exactly it took to set people off. "You need to stop pretending that you know everything."

"Um, no." She pursed her lips, hands on her hips. "I don't 'pretend.' What I do is what I've always done, and that is call things how I see 'em. The way I'm seeing things right now? You're crawling out of your skin to celebrate your impending doom—uh, fatherhood, while your mutant boyfriend tries to be discreet by hiding his shame under obnoxiously loud accessories. I mean, really?"

"I guess this is my fault for expecting you to care about or remember something that wasn't about you. My fiancé's sister-in-law miscarried days after we got the excited 'guess what?' phone call from his brother last year." Blaine wished he had felt a twinge of satisfaction when Santana's face softened. She turned her shoulders away, hands clasped behind her back. She kept her chin up high, but her body language expressed exactly what she felt: defeat at an uncomfortable level. He continued, needing to say it loud loud, needing for her not just to hear—but to listen. "He isn't ashamed, he's... cautious, afraid, and I'd say he's allowed to be without getting judged for it." She flinched when Blaine clapped his hands together. "So, yeah, Santana. We're 'keeping it.'"

Santana blinked rapidly, face carefully blank. "OK." She snatched a small box off a shelf, slipping it into her cherry red scrub top's side pocket. "OK," she snappishly repeated at Blaine's raised eyebrows look. "I'm..." Santana shook her head, her long ponytail swaying back and forth. "I'll watch how I... word myself around you for now on," was her attempt at an apology. "What more do you want from me?"

"Uh, I'd actually prefer for you to watch how you... 'word yourself' around Kurt. He has too much on his plate as it is, he doesn't need your tasteless jokes." The abortion reference had left him feeling sick; a "what if" had tapped him on his shoulder. What if Kurt had wanted to terminate the pregnancy? He didn't even know how to respond to that thought, other than to push it away, far away. "Just tone it down, okay?"

"He doesn't even know that I know! Fine, whatever, but he's going to know that I know if I tone this—" She proudly gestured herself from head to toe, toe to head, "down. For real, you know what I'm sayin'? But yeah, 'K. I got you, you got me. We good now?"

"For the—" He was interrupted by the sound of a pager going off. While Santana patted her pockets, Blaine clipped the beeping device off his pants. "It's me... it's the front desk, what? I don't even have..." He trailed off, biting down on the inside of his cheek, and then hurried out of the small room without saying anything else.

Blaine swore he felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Kurt standing at the nurse's station, face pale and his eyes tinged red. He broke out into a run, barking at Santana to grab a wheelchair. He couldn't close the distance between him and Kurt fast enough. Kurt must've agreed; he grabbed at Blaine's shoulders once he was in arms reach, his face crumpling.

"Blaine, I've had—"

Blaine clutched at the thick lapels on Kurt's winter jacket. "Becky, page Dr. Fabray now."

Kurt paused to squint, a fat tear sliding down his cheek, and sniffed. "What? I'm—" He squeaked when Santana rolled a wheelchair behind him, the edge of the seat knocking into the back of his knees. He fell back, two sets of hands easing him down into the chair. He shook his head frantically, jaw slack enough for his mouth to form an angry 'o' shape while a deep 'v' settled in-between his drawn-together eyebrows. "Oh, this is ridiculous."

"Kurt, baby, I need you to—" Blaine had kneeled down, snapping his fingers at Santana without looking at her for the stethoscope peeking out of one of her many pockets. Kurt crossed one leg over the other, calmly holding up a finger to Blaine's face.

"I just threw up in a wastebasket during a very important lunch meeting, Blaine." Fighting back a new round of tears, he closed his eyes. All it'd taken was one whiff of Janice's lunch, a pint of steaming chicken and broccoli, to send him scrambling across the conference room. He'd barely made it to the trash receptacle in time, and Kurt now found himself wishing he could permanently delete the memory. Or, while he was wishing, for it not to have happened at all. "Ask me how my day was." Kurt opened his eyes when Blaine hooked his index finger around his own, still pointed upward, hope and dread darkly etched across his facial features.

"You're not—?"

Kurt shook his head once, slowly. "No, no I'm not. I'm OK, just humiliated." He hitched his shoulders up into a tight shrug. "Nothing new, right?" He looked down, covering his other hand over his eyes. The tips of his ears were pink, and Blaine guessed it wasn't just from the cold weather. "I vomited in front of my boss and my boss' boss, Blaine."

"I'm going to go make sure none of my patients have fallen and can't get up." Santana may or may not have mumbled "again" as she locked the brakes on Kurt's wheelchair. She was quick to walk away, stopping briefly only to slide the box she'd taken from the supply closet at Becky, who instantly frowned.

"Those are pushpins."

"Close enough," was the only response Santana threw over her shoulder.

Blaine kissed the tip of Kurt's finger, not seeing or hearing anything or anyone else around him. Nothing else mattered. "I'm sorry," he said through a sigh that morphed into a yawn. "Sorry, I'm..." He trailed off when Kurt leaned to the side.

"Quinn!" He greeted, and Blaine's eyes widened. He stood up, pausing mid-way for two seconds to brush off his knees, and spun around. Quinn was standing behind him, breathless but without a single strand of blonde hair out of place. Her green eyes danced wildly as she quickly attempted to intrepret their facial expressions and body language.

"Dr. Fabray!" Blaine slipped Santana's bright pink stethoscope around his neck.

"I was paged." Her uncertain tone nearly formed her statement into a question. Kurt grunted, pushing himself out of the wheelchair. He moved as if he were closer to nine months pregnant, not four. Deft fingers worked at unbuttoning his jacket, and Blaine grinned when it slipped off his shoulders. All Kurt had worn to work was a form-fitting vest over a white t-shirt and pin-striped dress slacks. He looked great, if a little undressed for December.

"That was for me. I'm here to hit my favorite doctor up for some drugs." He waved his hand dismissively at the face Blaine pulled. "I need something for the nausea again, Quinn. It's worse than ever. I can't eat, look at, or smell Chinese take-out ever again." No Chinese food... 'Ever again'? Blaine felt a little piece of him die inside after hearing those words.

Blaine cleared his throat. "Kurt threw up in a room full of god-like superiors."

"And an inferior." Kurt sourly guessed Janice would bring chicken and broccoli for lunch every goddamned day until The Decision was made. He would definitely need to load up on the anti-nausea medication to get through the next few weeks. Kurt was starting to look forward to their Lima, OH getaway over the holidays. It was a much-needed break for the both of them.

Quinn crossed her arms over her chest, continuing to watch Kurt closely. "I'll have my nurse call it in to your pharmacy, but why don't you come upstairs with me while you're here? I'd like to look you over first—" She matched Kurt's arched eyebrow. "I don't just... hand out prescriptions, you know. I'm a real doctor now, Kurt."

"A 'real' doctor compared to when you were... a fake doctor?" Blaine dared to question, earning a solemn head shake from Kurt.

"Blaine," he lightly chided with smiling eyes, "we do not question each others' pasts." Blaine was relieved to see how much Kurt had calmed down. "So, Quinn, all I have to do is let you feel me up in exchange for the drugs? I'm down for that."

"I thought you'd be. I do suppose—" She looked at the time on her wristwatch. "—I'll have time for an ultrasound if we walk quickly. You up for seeing the little imp who's causing all your ailments?"

Kurt immediately perked up, rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet and back. "Really?" As if he'd turn down an opportunity to spy on the fetus occupying his uterus (or, as he'd read Santana refer to it as in a "private" text to Blaine, a 'man-uterus' slash 'muterus'). He held out his hand for Blaine to take, frowning when all he felt was air between his fingers. "Blaine?"

"I can't, I'm working." On the brink of frustration, Blaine gestured the environment they were in as a reminder.

"Oh, just go." Santana popped up next to him, bumping her hip into his as she stole back her stethoscope. "I'll cover you as long as you admit to having a very private conversation in a very public place 'cause I don't want you blaming me for all the congratulatory back slaps you're going to get when you come back down, mmk?" She eyed Kurt's stomach, corners of her mouth twitching. "And as long as you get him out of here before one of them screamin' buttons bust off and hit someone in the eye 'cause damn."

Kurt rolled his eyes while Quinn scolded Nurse Lopez for her lack of professionalism. He smiled when Blaine took his hand, and brought it up to kiss his knuckles. He blushed, the tips of his fingers brushing down the strained buttons on his vest. They poked out at odd angles, the sleeveless garment obviously too tight. Looking down, Kurt sighed. "Look what you've done."

Blaine grinned, all happy and relaxed. "I know, look."


Blaine tiredly stumbled through their apartment door at twenty after eight that night. He'd stayed an hour late to make up for the time he'd spent with Kurt at their impromptu appointment with Dr. Fabray. He leaned his shoulder into the wall for support, eyes half-lidded as he untied his damp boots. He pushed down his scrub pants, the bottoms soaked up past the calf from a recent snowfall, before setting foot on the carpet. Blaine called out Kurt's name, carelessly balling the article of clothing up in-between his hands.

He found Kurt standing in front of the mirror in their bathroom, his hair pushed out of his face with an elastic headband. Kurt's face was thickly coated in a paste-like substance that only reminded Blaine of the makeshift meringue mask the title character in Mrs. Doubtfire comically wore. He chuckled, quickly distracted from the face mask by Kurt's clothing choice for the evening. "Oh my stars and garters, Kurt Hummel is wearing scrubs." The bottoms to a navy blue set, at least. It still counted, though. "This is you giving into my Dr. Hummel fantasy, right?"

Kurt met Blaine's gaze over his shoulder in the mirror as he stepped up behind him. "Not in any mood for Blainenanigans right now." While dabbing more cream onto his chin and t-zone, he complained about how the majority of his pants were starting to get "too," too tight in the thigh and waist area. Blaine guessed he must have been planning out his "I'm still more fabulous than you" post-barf incident outfit for tomorrow, and the realization that he was almost sixteen weeks pregnant finally rained down on him. Kurt's designer clothes usually ran small, so this was an issue Blaine had already been waiting (read: dreading) for. "I can live through..." He straightened his posture, pausing long enough for a second breath, "what happened today, but I refuse to split my pants open in front of these people."

Blaine's hands rested on Kurt's hips from behind. "You are amazing." He upped himself on his toes, lips finding their way to Kurt's neck. "I love you," he said against the soft skin. Blaine kissed his neck, hooking his thumb into the collar of Kurt's shirt to stretch it out for better access. Hearing Kurt's breath catch in his chest, he tightened his grip, and broke away to pant into Kurt's shoulder when he pushed his hips back into him. He gently sucked at the skin below his ear, following an open-mouthed kiss with a wet nip. He grinned when he heard the little gasping noises Kurt was making. "Really?" He asked, smug.

"Oh, shut up. I'm... god, Blaine, don't stop." He placed his trembling hands over Blaine's, impatiently guiding them under his shirt and upward. "I'm sensitive, OK, like overly. I nearly came just from zipping up my pants this morning." When the pads of Blaine's fingers roughly rubbed over his nipples, Kurt ground his hips back again. Blaine stumbled, knocked off balance, and pulled Kurt with him. Frustrated, he pushed out of Blaine's arms, and leaned over the sink, bracing himself against the counter. "Come on, just... give it to me."

"Really?" Blaine asked again, less smug. He swallowed thickly, anticipation stirring in the pit of his stomach. Kurt hadn't given him a chance to 'top' in at least two months, not since they found out about the pregnancy. Despite feeling like the row of vanity lights above them were beaming down on him like a spotlight, Blaine licked his lips. Quick and brief, his hands dropped down to press against Kurt's lower abdomen before trailing behind to his back. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, tugging the scrub pants down past the curve of Kurt's ass.

"Oh!" Kurt suddenly hopped back, accidentally stepping on Blaine's foot. He soothingly rubbed his hands over where Blaine's hands had been before they'd moved south. "I felt something."

The same stab of fear that Blaine had felt when he'd seen Kurt in the ER earlier that day split through his gut. "Pain? Was it sharp or—" Kurt shook his head, but tears still sprung to his eyes. That hadn't helped to ease Blaine's worry.

"It wasn't pain, definitely not pain." Kurt glanced down at his stomach, his thumb and index finger forming a 'C' around his navel as his fingers protectively curled inward. "It was bubbly, definitely bubbly."

Blaine mouthed, "bubbly?" He asked, confused, "like movement?" and then, in awe, "you felt the baby move?"

"I guess, maybe?" Having forgotten about the face mask, Kurt scratched at his cheek. It was drying along the edges, and had messily crumbled where his fingernails had dug in. He surged forward, throwing his arms around Blaine, pants still pulled down to reveal his derriere. Hugging back with one arm, Blaine used his free hand to hitch the scrubs up and over. "That's good, right? I mean, it wasn't at all strong, but I definitely felt something. Is that OK? Should I call Quinn? I'm going to call Quinn."

"Whoa, there. Kurt, Kurt, no. Don't—" Blaine's reflexes were tested when he had to grab hold of Kurt's wrists to keep him from rocketing out of the bathroom. He instantly let go when Kurt winced, even though he knew his loose grip hadn't been the cause. Kurt's shoulders sagged, and he cupped his hands over his mouth. Blaine went from shaking his head to nodding it, "it's good." He turned away to hastily grab a damp washcloth off the counter. "It's very good," he promised as he gently pressed a corner of the small cloth to Kurt's nose.

Kurt softly uttered, "I felt our baby." His eyes widened. "Blaine, I felt our baby move." He'd gone from sounding weak, uncertain, and surprised to strong, sure, and amazed. Kurt abruptly laughed, loud and happy, and held a hand to his stomach. That was enough to tell Blaine that he'd felt the sensation again. Blaine continued to wipe the hardening goop off Kurt's face, his mouth splitting into a goofy grin. "I'm telling you, it's bubbly. Like he or she's blowing bubbles in there."

"Oh? Should we ask Dr. Fabray to look around for a straw in there during the next ultrasound?" He teased, pushing up on the balls of his feet to kiss the tip of Kurt's crinkled nose once he'd cleaned off enough gunk to spot skin. "You know, pretty soon they're going to be able to tell us what the sex is."

"I know." Kurt sharply brushed him off, not unkindly, and took the washcloth out of Blaine's hand. He moved towards the sink, turning on the faucet. "You want it to be a surprise, I know. Me too." He bent over to splash his face with lukewarm water, his shirt riding up in the back. At Blaine's very loud sigh, he laughed. "Get out of here, shoo." He reminded him that the fall season finale of the television show they liked on Showtime was on in twenty minutes. "Go make us a snack."

"But my snack's right here." Kurt's hand stilled from patting at his cheeks, most of the homemade face cream washed off. Blaine folded an arm behind his head, a hand kneading at the back of his neck. He scrunched up his nose. "Did I really just say that?" Kurt shut off the water.

"You really just did." He reached for a folded hand towel, fat drops of water dripping off his chin. He turned around, holding the towel over his face. "I'll forgive you for objectifying my ass if you forgive me for what you're about to see."

Blaine's nose remained frozen in the "scrunched up" state. "What are you talking about?"

"OK, well. I noticed it this morning, but it wasn't so bad, so I covered it up, but now it has decided to hulk out, and refuses to be concealed," Kurt rushed out in one breath. He slowly lowered the towel, stopping below his eyes. "It's angry, Blaine."

Blaine tried again. "What are you talking about?"

"Gosh, get with it." He threw down the hand towel, stomping a foot. He gestured his face, finger pointing at an inflamed spot. "I have a zit!" Yeah, he should've left when Kurt gave him an out. "I never break out, ever. My skin has always been flawless, but as of lately—" Kurt's mean scowl was taken over with a smile. No, really. He'd stopped mid-rant to smile broadly. He waved his hand, "never mind. I can't rage when I feel... bubbles."

"Right, of course not." Blaine sounded out "bubbles" slowly, blatantly staring down at Kurt's stomach. He wanted to do nothing more than push him down on the couch, to lie with his face squished against Kurt's warm belly. All while, he imagined, getting crumbs in his hair from Kurt as he munched on whole grain saltine crackers smeared with organic peanut butter. He'd seen the opened box and half-empty jar on the coffee table when he'd gotten in. After a long day, with another just hours away, that was exactly what he needed.

And, minus the crumbs, that was what he got. Kurt played with his hair, instead, and he'd fallen asleep with his ear pressed to Kurt's navel. The intro to the local ten o'clock news woke him up, and he listened through the first segment before peppering Kurt's stomach with kisses. He scooted lower, urging Kurt's knees to spread farther apart by gently knocking his elbows into them, and motioned for him to lift his hips up. He pulled down on the scrub pants. "Should've had you out of these earlier."

"I'm sorry, but not everyone strips off their pants as soon as they get in through the front door. Seriously, what's up with that?" He inhaled sharply when Blaine cupped him through his boxers, squeezing gently. "You know it's inevitable, right? That one of these days you're going to do it when I'm in the middle of entertaining guests right here?" Nearly glistening from feeling overheated, Kurt slipped out of his shirt. "It's so going to be a sitcom cliché where I flail my arms and holler something absurd and random to distract them from my fiancé's exhibitionism."

Blaine wanted to at least try not to appear too eager in his obvious haste to help Kurt's legs out of the scrub pants, but he was quick to abandon that sinking ship. He'd had enough of them. Not just the scrubs, but clothing in general. He was totally fed up with clothing. Clothes, blah! He couldn't even find it in him to come up with a retort to Kurt's exhibitionist comment (other than "so?") He sunk back on his heels, hands skimming appreciatively along the outside of Kurt's thighs. "Bedroom?" He asked, hopeful. The narrow couch was far too limiting, and he was feeling particularly greedy.

Kurt responded with a knowing smile before he sat up to mirror Blaine's kneeling position. He kissed him soundly on the mouth, and they only broke the kiss long enough for Kurt to pull off Blaine's shirt over his head. He slid one hand down the front of Blaine's boxers, stroking him hard with a firm grip. "Bed," he finally agreed.


The following morning, despite after chowing down a hearty breakfast his fiancé made for him, Blaine stopped by the atrium for a bagel with cream cheese. He was gulping down coffee out of his thirty-two ounce travel tumbler when he was poked in the ear with a banana. Santana, holding a cold bottle of Vitaminwater in her other hand, cut in front of him in line. He glanced at her without peeling his lips away from his hot beverage, but had to ask "what?" when she crookedly smirked at him without saying anything.

"Now this?" Holding the banana by the stem, she waved it in a circular motion. "This is the face of a guy who was up all night gettin' some." A woman behind them in a disposable OR gown and cap cleared her throat. Santana met her gaze, and held on to it with a glare. "I know, right? I'm jealous, too."

Oh, no. Blaine was in too good of a mood to let Santana ruin it. Well, to let Santana ruin it so early in the day. Pretending to not have heard anything she'd just said, he greeted her warmly. "Guess what Kurt felt for the first time last night?" He asked haughtily, grinning as he bit into his bagel.

A small, surprised sound barely croaked past Santana's parted lips. She pushed the tip of her tongue into the inside of her bottom lip, nose crinkling slightly. He'd set her up with enough retorts to fill the air 'til lunch, at least—but, no. No, Blaine would never... not so easily! She squinted at him, shoulders tense. Santana eventually rattled off, "I can tell you what he didn't feel for the first time last night," while wearing a dubious frown.

He waited until he paid the cashier for his food to speak again. "The baby." He added "of course," as she droned it out. "Get used to this. I mean, it's only going to get worse after he's born." Santana lolled her head to the side in what Blaine assumed was sheer anticipation of what was to come. "I'm thinking about setting up a Twitter account for our families to follow so they'll be able to keep updated on his devel—"

"Hold the fuck up." Santana struck him in the shoulder with the banana. "What's with the gender-specific pronouns? Did I miss something?" He received another blow from the banana. "Oh my god, was there a penis sighting? You ass, I knew you'd peek."

"Um, no. Kurt's not far along enough for that, so there's not much to peek at." Not that he wasn't worried about catching a glimpse of exactly what he didn't want to know about yet in the next twenty-four and a half weeks of appointments. His mind drifted off, and he thought about how upset Kurt had been after their first ultrasound. It had taken several attempts from both him and Quinn to help Kurt pick out the tiny fetus in the grainy sonogram picture. "That's the head?" Kurt had asked for a second time, skeptical. "Are you sure it's not a vaguely baby-shaped tumor?" And then, to Blaine, he'd quietly suggested about maybe getting a second opinion.

"OK, but your fingers are so obviously crossed for a Blaine Jr." Her eyes, having rolled up to the ceiling, dropped to stare at the smudge of cream cheese littering the side of his mouth.

Blaine nearly dropped his bagel, visibly flustered. "What? No, my fingers are not—no! I thought I'd hop back and forth from 'he' to 'she' instead of using 'it,' that's all. I wouldn't, no. My fingers are not, they are not 'obviously crossed' at all, thank you very much."

"Whatever you say, Anderson." They lingered in front of an elevator, stalling for time before the start of their hectic shifts by stopping to admire a chipped mural on the wall. "Just remember—I know you."

He didn't answer right away, possibly too busy for a moment as he prepared a mental note to use "she" the next time he gushed about his unborn child. "Why," he asked as the elevator dinged and its gray doors swished open, "did that sound like... a threat?"

Santana stayed quiet, but leaned forward to wipe the smear of cream cheese off his face with the pad of her thumb. She winked, pressing the button for the main floor.

Blaine already started the countdown until noon in his head. Kurt was going to try to sneak away from the office to meet him in the hospital for lunch, and that would surely be the highlight of his day. Thinking about it was enough to put back a spring into his step, to make him smile. Santana noticed right away, and the gagging noise she made only made his smile brighten.