A prize fic for the fabulous Delphicoracle-Cat who won 2nd in the Slash contest :)

This is a fic based on a picture done by the talented Toxic-dolls (a.k.a DontBeAZombie) on dA. I recommend anyone to read/view these artists' work if you haven't yet :3

Anywho! A oneshot fic of Tugger and the bebes! Gosh, I realized how much I LOVE writing Tugger! He's just so... kickass!

Plus, I'm on a hot-streak! No block holding me back now! -WOOT-

It was nearing the end of yet another Jellicle Halloween. All the kittens had eagerly dressed in great, elaborate costumes of vampires, witches, and fairies. Fortunately, the kittens weren't very well known for their brilliant imaginations and originality, so it wasn't hard for the tribe's adults to whip up something magnificent... and pre-used.

Unfortunately for Tugger, he wouldn't be out celebrating this Halloween. Much to his dismay, his and Mistoffelees' kittens hadn't arrived in time to take part in this years' trick-or-treating or junkyard haunt. Out of fatherly devotion to his expanding family, he thought it best to stay behind and keep his mate company. Though he was a bit disappointed when he realized he couldn't wear his secret costume; even Deuteronomy and Gus had dressed up this year.

Now he sat in their shared den, lovingly waiting on his less-than-happy mate who was thoroughly not impressed with the late-comings of his fast-growing kits. Sitting at his feet, Tugger began tending to the swollen limbs.

"...We could do a puzzle," Tugger offered from his place at his mate's feet, rubbing and massaging the swollen ankles dutifully.

Mistoffelees gave him a pointed look. "You hate puzzles. And I doubt your plan to bore the kits out will do more than make us miserable."

The coon grinned at that. "We could pretend we're having so much fun that they'll come out just to see what we're up to." The tux gave out a whoosh of air, slumping back into the blankets discouragingly. They both fell silent, the heavy tom pinching the bridge of his nose; his fingers shielding the irritation in his eyes from his mate. Sensing his hopelessness, Tugger gently reached out to flatten his hand against the firm bump of the tux's stomach. "Don't worry, love," he comforted. "I'm sure they're on their way soon. And we'll be missing all this quiet-time; we should enjoy it while it lasts."

"Easy for you to say," Mistoffelees snapped. "You get to keep your body! You look gorgeous... and I look fat. Plus you don't have to lug around a thousand extra pounds on your front. It can be quite the hassle."

Carefully, Tugger looked from his mate to the swollen belly between them, taking a deep breath for confidence before offering a timid, "You look beautiful-"

"I have cankles!" Mistoffelees shot back, lifting his foot from Tugger's hand for emphasis.

The coon nodded enthusiastically. "Very beautiful cankles," he agreed, ignoring the spiteful glare from his moody mate. It had been almost a week since the kittens were due and Mistoffelees' mood seemed to grow even more intolerable by the hour. Tugger had long accepted his frustration, he too had become quite worried and a bit impatient as the time passed without progress. Jenny had said that if they didn't come out soon, they might grow too big for Mistoffelees to handle during the birthing process; and that made them even more edgy.

"I have an idea!" Tugger beamed, setting the socked foot to the side so he could sick himself to searching the corner of the den dedicated to the kittens' new nursery. He came back with a brown bottle filled half to the top with some watery liquid. "Castor oil. Jelly said it should make the kits slide right out."

Mistoffelees sat up to take the bottle curiously from his hand. "That sounds a bit too convenient," he mumbled whilst scanning the bottle. Glancing up at his mate, he added, "Especially to be telling me this now!"

"Well, I didn't think the term 'sliding' sounded very dignified for either you or the kits." He grimaced at the idea of his kittens sliding out of Cat-knows-where, then to be dropped by Jenny on their heads. "So I decided to wait and see how it would play out."

Nodding understandably, Mistoffelees uncapped the bottle and took a couple swigs of the foul medicine. They sat in anticipation for a couple of minutes, staring at the motionless bump for any signs of an encroaching labour. Tugger asked how he felt, but there was nothing new to report.

Without warning, the coon lunged forward to grab Mistoffelees' chest, gently kneading the muscle and sifting through the fur to gently rub the tux's nipples with his thumbs. "Bast, Tugger!" Mistoffelees nearly yelled. "What are you- this isn't the time for that!"

"No, no," Tugger suppressed a grin, resisting the angry hands swatting at him and trying to pry them from the black tom's chest. "This will help bring on contractions; I saw it in a show once at my human's home, it works."

Mistoffelees' face went red, partially from hormone-driven anger and partially from the embarrassing notion that he was getting turned on when he should be busy trying to find a way to rid his body of these kittens. "That's completely absurd. Humans will put anything on the telly!"

"Yes, but he was a doctor-"

"He could be the humans' leader for all I care!" he huffed, giving the coon one final shove before he could submit to his mate's artful hands. A small twinge of suspicion bristled the fur on the back of his neck when a familiar, mischievous smirk caught the big tom's lips. "...What?"

Tugger leaned in seductively, stopping when their faces were mere inches apart. "The doctor also said that mating can help bring about labour," he winked suggestively, leaning and around to place a teasing kiss under the tux's jaw.

Mistoffelees snorted, chuckling as he pushed the coon's face from his neck. Cheekily, behind the white furred hand, Tugger licked and kissed the tender muscle in his palm. "The doctor's words, not mine."

"The doctor obviously hasn't been pregnant before. Besides, I'm not taking anymore chances for a reprise for a while yet."

Groaning, the coon plopped down on his bottom next to the lounging spoilsport. "But you can't get pregnant when you're already pregnant," he drawled, trying out the effects of his most charming pout, drawing circles on Mistoffelees' thigh that slowly worked their way inwards.

"And you can't get pregnant if you're a tom," Mistoffelees pointed out. Looking down at his thigh, he caught the leather gloved hand to give it a light squeeze. Giving him an equally effective, wide-eyed, doleful look. "Are you sure you don't have any other ideas?"

None that you'll agree to, the golden tom thought irritably. There had to be something they could do to move things along. Or better yet, something to distract Mistoffelees so he wouldn't have to listen to him complain for another hour or so at the least. Now he could understand how Mistoffelees felt whenever he came down with a cold or flu. Tom-colds weren't pleasant to begin with: Tugger-colds were even worse.

Bending low so that his face rested right beside the plump stomach, Tugger cleared his throat lowly, quickly looking up at Mistoffelees and asking, "Do you suppose they can hear me?"

"I would reckon," the tux nodded, adjusting himself to get a better view.

Tugger nodded somberly. Returning his attention back to the bump, he settled himself comfortably and, in the lowest, most stern voice he could manage said, "If you don't come out right now, I'm going in after you!"

"Okay!" his mate sighed, rather unimpressed with the coon's jesting. "You're done here."

Frowning, the coon rolled his eyes. Some mothers are so touchy! "Misto, it's an empty threat. I'm not really going in there; I wouldn't fit."

"Your kits barely fit!" the black tom exclaimed, grabbing the bulky belly and rolling over onto his side, his back to the flirt.

Tugger sighed internally, just barely managing to suppress a retort for the sake of his mate's humour and rationality. All he could think to do was curl up behind him and pull him into the round curve of his body. Nuzzling the soft fur on the back of the tux's neck, he gave it an affectionate lick, his hands reaching round to cradle his late kits and their patient father in his arms.

"I was just trying to help," he offered quietly. His nails trailed lightly over the stretched skin of Mistoffelees' abdomen, a settled kitten kicked his gliding hand.

Mistoffelees craned his neck to face the coon. "I know," he whispered gently, apologetically planting a kiss on his lips. He shifted so that he could reach back to gently play with his mate's headfur. "It's just really hard. I'm worried."

"I'm worried too," Tugger confided.

They spent a few moments resting is silence; Tugger massaging the swollen, sore belly, and Mistoffelees gently fingering the gold and brown fur. Stretching, the tux tiredly kissed the coon. "Sing to me?"

Grinning, Tugger quietly began singing the tune to Mistoffelees' own song, his voice low and soothing. He was getting close to the part about having to call the magical cat in from the garden whilst he was in the hall when the fingers laced in his fur clamped, pulling the fur until it was nearly coming out.

"Ow!" he hissed, reaching up to unlatch the white furred hand. Looking up into his face, pain twisted his features; his brow furrowing, fangs bared, eyes squeezed shut and watering. "...Mistoffelees?"

Muscles releasing, Mistoffelees' eyes fluttered open, a mixture of adrenaline and excitement shining through the tears. Chuckling airily, he bit his lip and smiled. "I think your doctor was right."