Summary: Death bird does bird things.

Exhaustion-laden eye sockets narrowed at the bedroom doorway. Between its gothic-styled framing stood a five-foot-tall skeleton shrouded in a billowing black cloak with large ebony wings folded behind his back. The almost lively article's hood sat limply around his neck, giving a clear view of his blank face and, in turn, his rarely visible eyelights.

Each magical white pupil appeared dilated and took up most of the darkness beyond the other's eye sockets. An indicator that he had entered what Geno liked to call "bird mode."

The Aftertale Sans crossed his arms as well as he could above his bulging stomach. All the while, his expression remained stony while he glanced between the blocked exit and the bed just a few steps behind him.

Despite previous efforts to keep the furnishing tidy, it now housed a makeshift nest: a collection of meticulously arranged sheets, pillows, glittery threads of yarn (likely stolen from an unsuspecting child or crafter), large dark-colored feathers (unmistakably Reaper's), several twigs/branches, and bits of white cottony fluff liberated from a shredded cushion.

It, unfortunately, seemed to be yet another newly discovered side effect of his pregnancy's impact on his husband's ever-growing list of avian instincts- which, apparently, decided to branch (no pun intended) out from digging through trash and add nest building.

Amongst other things.

Eyeing Geno intently, the death god gave an urging flap of his wings before stepping forward. An action the pregnant monster counter-acted by stepping backward.

It didn't take much to guess what the other was thinking, especially considering his actions during the past few months.

"Reaper," Geno cautioned. "Don't you dare even think about it. I am pregnant, not an egg."

His husband didn't show any indication he heard, let alone understood what was said aside from making a low, rumbling croon. Then continued to advance. Thus, forcing him to take small and very cautious steps in retreat.

"Reaper," He repeated. "Stop."

The crow-esque skeleton once again failed to heed the warning and displeasure in his tone.

Typical, Geno mentally grumbled.

Soft, grey carpet flattened beneath his feet as his husband herded him toward his creation. Not long passed until he bumped against the bed's - or, in this case, the nest's - edge. Reaper wasted no time slipping hands under his armpits and deposited him in the center of blankety, pillowy mass.

He squirmed and tried to escape to no avail. Only having his fate cemented when he soon found himself pushed into the mattress and covered by wings alongside a far too pleased skeleton. Who decided to announce his victory via a joyful chirp.

Geno huffed, blowing a feather out of his face. "One of these days, I'm going to pluck you like a chicken."