AN: So someone finally ended up requesting the inevitable mpreg prompt. This one has slash. Not graphic, but graphic enough. It's not the basis of the drabble, of course. My apologies to Hugo. In other news, have finally decided to start clearing up my account. Will be deleting a few fics. Just the ones that have no reviews, so no need to worry. I just think that it's time.

"You're not going to catch anything."

"Courfeyrac caught something the third time around."

"Neither of us have slept with as many people as Courfeyrac."

"Still, there are other issues we should consider."

"I'm clean, Enjolras."

Enjolras had still seemed hesitant until Grantaire's mouth was around him, and all protests died once Grantaire buried himself inside the other man, his mouth upon Enjolras' in a desperate kiss. They did not make love that day. They fucked. Enjolras was sore for several days after and Grantaire had himself an air of impenetrable smugness.

Two months later and their world came crashing down.

"You are kidding me," Grantaire whispered, pacing the course of Enjolras' living room.

"I wouldn't kid about this."

"Enjolras, I don't mean to doubt your intelligence," Grantaire chose his words carefully and visibly winced when Enjolras turned a furious gaze upon him, "but you do know that you are male, right?"

"I have noticed a few things."

"Males cannot get pregnant."

"Nevertheless I am."

"And you don't see anything wrong with this?"

"I see plenty of things wrong with this! For one, we're in the middle of a revolution! I can't afford to take any time off to manage such affairs! And can you imagine the scorn of the child will receive? We aren't even married! Granted, societal obligations shouldn't matter at all when the society is wrong and corrupt, but all the same-"

"No, no, Enjolras." Grantaire knelt down so that he was at eye level with Enjolras who was sitting on the couch. "I meant that men cannot get pregnant."

"Well, I am."

"And you've been tested?"

"Yes. Discreetly. By both Joly and Combeferre."

This changed things and Grantaire's face fell. Joly he could see playing such a trick on Enjolras. It was a harmless joke, really. But Combeferre? He wouldn't do anything to cause Enjolras distress. Grantaire, certainly, but not Enjolras. "Then what is it you wish to do?" And part of him could not believe he was having such a conversation with his lover.

His very male lover.

Enjolras looked away, and in that moment Grantaire saw not the formulation of doubts which was to be expected from anyone who wasn't named Enjolras but the forming of a plan.

"It was never my goal to have children, but it would be nice if the newest generation could have a home within our new Republic. You know I detest the unnecessary spilling of blood. Let us be pragmatic for a moment, yes? Say I was to keep the child. Measures would have to be taken. It would need to be kept quiet for the most part. Our friends could know, no one else."

"It's not as though you eat much," Grantaire muttered. "Clothing could be provided, I suppose. Loose clothing."

Grantaire tried not to think about having a proper home with Enjolras, a dog, and their child running about, and how he hoped the kid would have more of Enjolras' features than his own. He thought he would be a very good father, really. Once he had given up drinking, perhaps. He would teach the kid sports and give the kid a classical education and encourage him or her in the arts. And he or she would call him papa or father, he wasn't sure just yet.

And oh, he was already thinking about it.

Enjolras was mentioned guns now so he forced himself to pay attention and blinked. "Did you just compare our child to ammunition?"

"When it comes to hoarding, yes. I just need to know if you will stay by my side throughout all of this."

Again, those images came back to Grantaire and he found himself smiling despite the strangeness of the situation. He could see Enjolras teaching the kid how to shoot a rifle. Perhaps the kid would inherit his father's speech patterns, and every new word he or she learned would sound like a sonnet.

A goofy sentimental smile worked its way up to his face and he caught himself blushing. "I'll be there," he promised to both his lover and his unborn child.