Upon finding out that he was pregnant, Yuri had been thrilled. Upon discovering the less-than-fun side-effects of said condition, Yuri's enthusiasm had continued going strong. Now, at the tail-fucking-end of his pregnancy, less than two weeks away from his due date, Yuri's maternity shirt won't fit, and he's less than pleased.

Or: A cute, fluffy drabble I wrote too quickly and love too much about the characters I may or may not be willing to devote my life to. :)
(Written for an exchange!)

***

For Lazy_Panda13.

The requested tags used were: Otabek Altin/Pregnant Yuri Plisetsky (YoI), Alpha/Omega, Animals LOVE pregnant character/pregnant belly, Feeling Baby Kicks, Baby bump is BIG.

I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuri huffed, staring into the mirror, as if, if there were enough determination in his glare, the problem would resolve itself. Of course, this problem was far from new to Yuri, and its very familiarity was partially why it was so infuriating for him to deal with now.

For the last year and a half, after he and Otabek had agreed (rather passionately) that they wanted a baby, they'd been trying for one. For the nine months following that, they'd quite enjoyed themselves in the effort of procreating. And, nine months ago, they'd gotten lucky.

Yuri would remember the day they found out for the rest of his life; he'd been sick for two weeks, and, with all the signs there, both he and Otabek had been a mix of excited and terrified to actually take the test and receive official results. Yuri had been nauseous when he'd finally peed on the stick (a trend that had largely led to said peeing on the stick), and had actually thrown up when it showed a tiny, perfectly pink plus sign two minutes later. By the time all the vomit was out of the way, tears were shed, celebratory sex was had, and a rather strange meal (the first of many) was indulged in. To this day, Yuri swore that leeks were the most heavenly of foods, and Otabek unfailingly remarked that leeks with mustard was nothing short of Satanic. It came out to the same thing, in the end.

That had been a day of nauseating, blinding euphoria, and, a little over eight months later, Yuri was still as delighted as he initially had been that he and Otabek were having a baby. (Two babies, specifically, as of Yuri's 12-week sonogram.) And, through it all: the morning sickness, the insane cravings, the insaner food aversions (when Yuri had found out that yoghurt made him sick, he had been less than pleased), the backaches, sore feet, and the frequent appearance of a soul-crushing exhaustion that he did not appreciate, Yuri had remained happy with being pregnant. But now, barely two weeks from his due date and big as a fucking house with near-full term twins, Yuri's optimistic enthusiasm was running out.

Which led him to glaring daggers at his reflection, staring at the thin, black and white striped t-shirt that refused to settle over his swollen stomach as it was supposed to. Yuri huffed, staring into the mirror, as if, with enough defiance, the garment could be forced into submission.

Another tug.

The shirt reached just over the arch of his abdomen, and then rolled back up when he let it go, the fabric stretched tight.

With a muffled cry of frustration, Yuri threw up his hands. He didn't want to go back to that fucking store, goddammit-- he'd already spent a fortune there in maternity clothes, and he was so close to giving birth. If he bought new clothes because he'd fucking outgrown the old ones and then had his water break all over his shoes the next day, he'd be fucking pissed.

"Yura?"

Yuri growled, giving one final, fruitless tug on the fabric of the useless t-shirt. What the fuck?

"Yura?"

Snarling, Yuri turned on his heel, marching out of the bedroom and through to the babies' room. "What?" He spat, glaring, as Otabek came into view, comparing two mobiles and oscillating them between the cribs positioned side-by-side against the mint-green wall.

Otabek turned, blanched, and slowly eyed Yuri up and down. Impossibly, incorrigible, a small smile formed on his face.

Yuri narrowed his eyes.

"Time for another trip to the maternity store?"

"Stop fucking laughing, I'm dying here."

"I'm not laughing," Otabek set down the mobiles on the changing table behind him, "just admiring the view."

"Yeah yeah, I look like a fucking whale, enjoy it." Yuri rolled his eyes, hands on his hips and ignoring the attention-seeking children waking up inside him.

"You don't look like a whale," Otabek spoke with the practiced patience of someone who had had this conversation many, many times before. Yuri ground his teeth. "You look beautiful," Otabek moved closer to him and settled his hands on either side of his waist, threading them through his arms.

"I look like I've gotten too fat for maternity clothes." Yuri countered, gesturing impatiently at the t-shirt, still resting happily, obstinately, at the top of his abdomen, leaving his entire stomach exposed.

"It's cute," Otabek wrapped his arms more tightly around him, bringing him as close to his chest as he was able. "The babies are growing."

Yuri rolled his eyes, though the venom was leeching out of him the longer his husband held him. "You can't even hug me normally. I'm too fucking big."

"Never," Otabek maneuvered, a bit awkwardly, around the prominent bump between them, and pressed a gentle kiss to Yuri's forehead. "You're perfect."

He held him a second, before Yuri sighed. "I don't want to go back to that fucking store." He tried to bury his head against Otabek's collarbone, found himself several inches short of being able to do so, and bit back a groan of frustration. "It's not fair-- I only have two weeks left; I don't want to buy more shit."

"You don't have to," Otabek's hand rubbed, soothing, up and down his waist.

"Well, I can't just go around naked until I have the babies."

"Who says you need to?"

"I can't fit into my clothes."

Otabek sighed through his nose, eyebrows creasing. "You can't fit into one shirt. Everything else is still there. You didn't just magically go up a size overnight; this probably just shrunk in the wash."

Well, now that Yuri thought about it, the shirt did feel tighter around his arms and upper back. Yuri still pouted. "God, I'm so ready to be done with this. I just want to be able to hold them-- it's been so long."

"I know, baby," Otabek pressed his lips against Yuri's temple. "I want to meet them, too."

"I'm just sick of being pregnant," Yuri groused, though he still laid his head against Otabek's, after a moment of creative contorting, curling into his touch. "And don't call me 'baby'-- it makes me think of the babies."

Otabek snorted, though he nodded. "Why don't I take your mind off it? We could have an easy day in, just relaxing."

Yuri sighed, but nodded, allowing himself to be led gently from the room and down the stairs, slowly and with his hand on the railing.

"Why don't you have a snack? You always feel better after eating, and I bet your blood sugar's low."

Yuri scoffed softly, entirely aware of how much he was being babied, and unbothered by it. He'd be offended by the ostensible condescension in Otabek's words had they been from anyone other than him-- but Otabek knew him so damn well, and the fact that Yuri was actually a little bit hungry worked wonders in his favor.

"It's so damn hot in here," he said, amicably, when they reached the kitchen. "It's only May; this is ridiculous."

Otabek hummed. "We are in New York-- not everywhere is Russia with occasional snow in May."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "I don't appreciate it."

"I'll forward the memo to Mother Nature," Otabek replied, not even looking up from the cutting board he'd drifted to, already grabbing ingredients for something or other. "On second thought, do you want to just have dinner? It's almost five and I've been meaning to try out that new recipe. I have to make use of it before the pregnancy cravings stop."

Yuri threw the dish towel on the back of the chair he was considering sitting in at him. Otabek, of course, caught it, and used it to wipe off one of the larger knives from the dishwasher. Yuri would never get used to that machine, but, goddamn, did he love it.

Deciding to station himself semi-permanently in the kitchen, Yuri eased himself into the chair, his lips curling slightly as Otabek began to whistle under his breath. God, he was such a fucking nerd. But Yuri loved to watch him cook; he always got a secret, little smile on his face when he did, and Yuri had a theory that this man just loved taking care of his family.

Family.

Yuri grinned as a flutter of kicks were felt inside him, and pressed a palm to his bare belly. Normally, he liked to be clothed (outside of the bedroom and bedroom-esque taunting, that was), but it was May, and it was fucking hot, and Yuri was decent, should someone barge into his kitchen at a moment's notice: he felt no need to change. Besides, he'd only donned this shirt after Potya had gotten fluff all over the last and he'd nearly inhaled it, and he was too lazy to search for a third. He loved his cat, and it was adorable how she'd taken to perching atop his rotund belly and going to sleep (which often gave him a better reason not to move than simply 'my feet hurt'), but her summer shedding was bad.

"Are they awake?" Otabek asked, turning around and spying Yuri regarding his abdomen fondly.

Yuri hummed in response. "They're excited about the food."

"I haven't even turned the stove on, yet."

"But food."

Otabek chuckled and tilted his head, well-used to Yuri's appetite after nearly ten months of enduring his lunatic pregnancy cravings. "Give me forty minutes and you'll have all the leeks of your dreams, Yura."

Yuri smiled, leaning up to kiss him as he passed by his chair. Otabek rested a hand against his abdomen, and his eyes sparkled when several strong kicks met his touch.

"Are they fighting in there?"

"It feels like it," Yuri let out a breath somewhere between laughing and pained as another, more persistent, battery of kicks brutalized his innards. "Dial it down, you two. It's me who gets caught in the crossfire."

Otabek huffed a laugh as he moved away. "I thought we wouldn't start the bedroom dispute until they were at least five."

"How optimistic," Yuri returned dryly. "We've been having the bedroom dispute for five months-- there's just not enough damn space in there." He let out a whoosh of air as a foot made contact with his lung. "The babies agree."

***

"Beka--"

"No."

Yuri pouted. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Yes, I do, and the answer is no."

"But--"

"No snacking! Dinner will be done in ten minutes; you'll ruin your appetite."

Yuri rolled his eyes, stubbornly keeping his hand at the edge of the plate Otabek had been trying to keep away from him. For God's sake, he was the official pasta-taster when Otabek's weird, the al-dente-preferring brain couldn't tell if the noodles were cooked through or not. It made no sense that this specific spoonful of sampling noodles was being banned. Especially not when they were already garnished with the leek sauce Otabek had found the recipe for.

This was utter nonsense.

"I won't," Yuri muttered, entirely aware that he was acting like a seven-year-old and not caring. He was hungry, dammit.

Otabek shook his head, and Yuri was starting to resent that he was already so good at the stern dad thing. Toward the kids (and his stomach fluttered because soon there would be kids--), it was fine, but toward him?

"Bekaaaaa," Yuri whined, drawing out the a and giving his best puppy dog eyes. He wasn't as good at them as Otabek was (and, goddammit, he was too good at them), but Otabek normally cracked more quickly than Yuri did-- at least lately, with unimportant things like this. "Please? The babies want to eat."

Otabek, who had been making a concentrated effort not to look at him, doubtlessly aware of what persuasive devices he'd chosen to employ, glanced his way. He made it another fifteen seconds before visibly wilting, heaving a sigh. "Then you won't be hungry for dinner," he tried weakly, though he was clearly aware that this battle was lost.

Secure in his victory, Yuri chose to regain some of his (ostensible) maturity, and set a hand on his stomach, still uncovered. "I'm pregnant, I'm always hungry. You have nothing to worry about. And this is only a spoonful."

Otabek gave him the side-eye, clearly keen to keep up the charade that he had any choice in this matter. And, honestly, he did; they'd argued (and it was a stretch to call this an argument) over far more important topics in the past, and Yuri, for all his brashness, wasn't one to force Otabek into anything he didn't want. If Otabek truly wished for Yuri to wait until dinner to try the pasta, he would, but Yuri highly doubted that he actually cared that much.

And, as if to cement his point, Otabek took another moment's silence before tilting his head in assent over to the pasta dish sitting on the counter, a small smile curling his lips when Yuri grinned.
"You're impossible, I hope you know that." Still, a gentle kiss was pressed to Yuri's cheek when he hugged him.

"I do," Yuri replied, exchanging the innocent affection for something a little deeper, and taking his time to indulge them both in a slow, loving round of face-sucking. "But you put up with me anyway."

"That I do," Otabek agreed, cupping one side of Yuri's face and stroking his thumb over his cheekbone. He shook his head then, lovingly exasperated, and flicked Yuri gently in the forehead. "Now eat it, you gremlin."

Yuri grinned, and wasted no time in grabbing the small amount of pasta and trying it.

Otabek's cooking had prevailed once again; Yuri all but moaned when the flavor hit his tongue. The sauce was wonderful. But--

Something in Yuri's mouth crunched, and he raised an eyebrow. Accordingly, Otabek added three minutes to the timer for the pasta still cooking on the stove, and Yuri snorted.

In the end, the three minutes had been slightly too long, but neither Yuri nor Otabek cared too much when the noodles began to fall apart on being stirred into the sauce. Well, Otabek muttered something teasing about this being why al dente was the way to go, and Yuri elbowed him gently in the ribs, but beyond that, there was very little reaction from either of them.

They settled on the couch to eat, a plate of pasta before each of them, and shared a small smile when a baby-centric commercial came on as soon as they turned on the TV, in proper lazy-adult fashion. They'd be in need of those products, in the near future.

They had made themselves comfortable, curled together and sharing body heat despite the heinous temperatures, when, just as Yuri lifted his fork for the first bite of his non-still-hard pasta (and, boy, the difference in a meal that could make), the near future became immediate, and something inside him popped.

He went still as his pants (cotton shorts; it was hot) were slowly dyed dark, and shared Otabek's stunned stare when they realized, in tandem, that Yuri's water had just broken.

"Well," Otabek said after a moment of dead silence. "At least you never got that shirt."

**A/N**

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