Many thanks to anderson-hastings (on Tumblr) for encouraging me to give mpreg a whirl!
A particularly loud rumble of his stomach woke Kurt from his somewhat unplanned afternoon nap on the couch.
"First you keep me up until all hours of the night because I can't get comfortable, and now you want dinner even though we just had lunch...oh, that was like five hours ago. I've been asleep longer than I thought," Kurt said after catching a glimpse of the cable box, caressing his belly. "You might have a point there, little bun, I'm sorry."
Kurt's stomach rumbled again, so forcefully that Kurt swore the skin on his torso was wiggling.
"Okay, okay, I'll make dinner. God, I hope we still have linguine noodles in the house," Kurt said, slowly pushing himself upright and off the couch. He had to use the arm and the coffee table for balance, but he was getting pretty adept at maneuvering after just over five months of pregnancy. "I might have to call your daddy and beg him to buy me some pasta on his way home if we don't have any noodles here."
Fortunately, Kurt's walk to the kitchen was not in vain. A full box of linguine sat on a convenient shelf, right next to the olive oil and the buttery popcorn seasoning, Kurt's newfound topping of choice.
"Your other father is a national treasure, little bun," Kurt said, grabbing the ingredients and the pot they left out on the counter at all times now so Kurt wouldn't have to bend. He put some water on to boil as he continued, "I'm gonna have to make sure he doesn't spoil you rotten."
There was a beat of silence.
"Oh, who am I kidding, I'll probably be wrapped around your little finger, too," Kurt said, rubbing his stomach almost unconsciously - he had really developed a habit of it once his pregnancy had been confirmed. "Especially if you don't come out sick of hearing my voice after nine months of me rambling on to you incessantly."
Kurt stopped talking once he noticed the water was coming close to a boil, not wanting to burn himself as he tried to drop in the noodles. Blaine was already getting increasingly paranoid about him being too active, so even a burnt fingertip could cause him to panic that the baby was going to be hurt somehow.
The pasta went in without a hitch, much to Kurt's delight, and he quickly grabbed a spoon from the nearby drawer and started pushing it around, trying to get the noodles to soften and fit in the pot better. A blast of heat from the steam warmed his hands as he stirred, prompting him to sing quietly.
"Too hot - hot damn. Say my name, you know who I am: I'm too hot - hot damn. Am I bad 'bout that money? Break it down!" Kurt popped a hip as sassily as he could without jolting himself too much. "Girls hit your hallelujah - whoa!"
He faltered on the last lyric, nearly dropping the spoon entirely into the pot, because something had just moved inside his body.
"Was that just-" he asked himself, stunned.
"Was that just what?" Blaine's voice called out from the hallway. His body appeared in the kitchen a moment later. "Also, hi, I'm home!"
"I assumed this was just a hologram of you," Kurt said dryly. "Thanks for clarifying, dear."
"But really, was what just what?" Blaine repeated, unfazed by Kurt's sarcasm after years of being together. "Also, should you be that close to the pot?"
"I'm cooking pasta, Blaine, not crystal meth. I think the baby will be fine," Kurt said, shooting Blaine an unimpressed glare.
Blaine walked over to Kurt and placed a kiss on his cheek and a hand on his belly, looking sheepish. "I know, I know, I'm sorry. I really am trying to back down."
"I'm about four seconds from burning all your What to Expect books, so you had better be," Kurt said, kissing Blaine's forehead quickly before turning his attention back to his pasta. "And to finally answer your question: I think the baby just kicked."
"Really?" Blaine squealed, looking almost as excited as he had when Mr. Schue had announced disco week all those years ago in glee club. "Do you think our little bun would let me feel?"
"I was singing when it happened, so maybe if I start again…," Kurt said, shrugging. "But you can't laugh at my song choice!"
"I would never," Blaine said sincerely, smiling at Kurt in a way that made him feel like he was falling in love with him all over again. He pressed down a little firmer on Kurt's stomach.
God, these pregnancy hormones are making me sappy, he thought, shaking his head ever so slightly. Clearing his throat a little, he began singing again. "Girls hit your hallelujah."
"Whoa!" Blaine said, accidentally in time with the song. "I felt it! I felt it!"
"I cannot believe our baby's favorite song is Uptown Funk," Kurt said, switching off the burner and pulling away from Blaine to strain his food. "Knowing us, you'd think it'd be something from Moulin Rouge!"
"Maybe she's telling us what gender she is," Blaine mused. "We could try singing Hey Ya! and checking if the baby kicks at fellas or ladies."
"No."
"But-"
"Blaine, we are not attempting to divine our baby's gender by singing random pop songs at it and seeing how it reacts," Kurt said, scooping some noodles onto a plate and seasoning them how he liked. "Now sit down and eat some pasta before I claim it all for myself."
Blaine pouted but moved to grab some dinner of his own, showing he knew better than to cross his mood swing-prone husband at this point. The memory of Kurt breaking down into noisy, passionate sobs after one of those sad puppy commercials came on TV last month still haunted them both.
Later that night, Kurt nearly throttled Blaine when he woke up to discover him quietly crooning Hey Ya! at his belly, only placated by the promise of a foot rub and coffeecake in the morning. When their daughter was born, though, Blaine couldn't help but gloat over being right - at least until Kurt threatened to make him do all the midnight feedings alone.