Baby Bottle Brews

Chapter 3: Grammy Night

One Week Later;

We actually weren't as ready as we thought we were.

The day started out as any other day; I woke up to an extra horny wife who in turn started working herself up by straddling me, totally forgetting that she gets motion sick really easily now, so when she started grinding down on me and I was just getting into it, she rolled off and bolted to the bathroom leaving me high and dry, or wet rather, yet again.

Then when I followed her into the bathroom to check on her, she was a hot crying mess. She was hunched over the toilet sobbing when she blindedly reached back, probably for my shirt to tug me down by, when she accidently went for my crotch, and since I was still extremely sensitive, I nearly fell over on her from the touch. She was too busy throwing up dinner from last night to notice though, thank God!

After crying for 30 minutes over waking me up an hour early just for sexy times only to ruin it by being a pregnant tease, her words, I pulled her to back to bed so that we could sleep for a little bit longer.

Instead of spending those last 30 minutes sleeping, it ended up turning into a cuddled session, which turned into a make out session, which turned into sexy times. I wasn't complaining though, heading to the Grammys being extra sexually frustrated was not something anyone wanted; it's either Santana would miss hearing her name announced for being nominated because we would've found some broom closet to relieve ourselves or there'd be an unhealthy amount of teasing taking place beneath our table which would lead us back to the broom closet; either way, we were going to be making great use of said broom closet.

After three rounds and a very short cuddle session, we both got up to shower the sex off and get the house somewhat clean before our guests showed up.

Then just when we thought that we were getting back into a routine, all hell broke loose.

"You fuckers better be here within the next six minutes!" Santana yelled into the receiver of her phone as she paced the floor in our bedroom while Quinn took the flatiron to another section of my hair; unlike San's hair stylist, mine was here on time. "I swear, if you two aren't here you'll never work in this city again! You don't want that. We live in New York fucking City, you need this! You need this job and I need my fucking hair did!"

Santana had been screaming into her phone like this for the past ten minutes because fifteen minutes ago her stylists were supposed to be here and from the sound of it, and how poofy her hair looks, they were not here. She was pretty much freaking the hell out and I could totally understand since today is really not one of the days where we can afford to mess up.

"Does it sound like I give a fuck about traffic?" She asked sarcastically and waved her hand in the air, "Because I don't. I don't care if Godzilla is out there right now terrorizing the shit out of the city! You get your asses out of that car and you fucking run if you have to, I don't give a shit. This is the Grammys! Traffic is no excuse on Grammy night! I don't pay you shit tons of money to hear half assed excuses!"

"She seems really angry.." Quinn teased as my eyes followed San's movements. I nodded knowingly and sighed.

"Yeah, she's been having a rough morning." I shrugged, "Morning sickness is kicking her butt today and on top of all-"

"You've got 4 more minutes, do you hear me?"

"That," I added, "She's starting to get a little grumpy."

"Yeah, I can tell." Quinn replied, "Sam and Bella made brownies last night, I brought some for you two also. I left it in the kitchen."

"Awh, thanks Q." I cooed happily and fought the urge to turn around and hug her, "You know food always makes San happy!"