butterfingers (l.s mpreg)

twenty two, week 25

Before they could do much about it, Harry and Louis couldn't keep their hands off of each other. Harry was always looking so damn good, and Louis was too.

It was a win-win.

They were used to playful little touches, cheek kisses and hand holding. Thankfully, they grew out of that quickly.

Very quickly.

Hand touching became heavy make outs before a quick trip to Clark's, the tiny convenience store at the end of their block. Kissing became, well, more and more kissing until Harry was panting beneath Louis and Louis was pawing at his growing bump.

And when they returned from their honeymoon, Niall and Katie had also noticed.

Hell, even poor Mark noticed. He definitely won't ever forget the way Harry's whimpers echoed throughout the penthouse. He was sure his Louis had brought home another pup.

Poor pup couldn't sleep at the foot of their bed, even if he snuck in. He was always getting kicked off! He didn't really mind, he'd been getting even more pats and cuddles than usual, and his Harry was always so pink and flushed and giggled even louder when the messy bulldog kissed just under his chin (just above the multitude of hickeys left the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that.)

Niall had just laughed, eyeing the way Louis' hand clung to Harry's increasingly plump thigh beneath their dining room table before leaning into his wife; "who are the real newlyweds here?" She smiled.

Louis kicked him beneath the wooden table.

By the time week twenty four and Harry's week twenty four checkup had come and gone, lunches and dinners with Niall and Katie had grown to be routine. Some nights at their place, and others with Mark beneath the counter begging for another bite of Harry's pizza crust.

At the end of September, Harry had finally gained control of his work routine and Louis' writing continued with flying colors. One thing Harry did manage was a week of vacation, one he hoped to spend with his Louis.

Louis, being a worried, possessive boyfriend was skeptical.

"You're twenty four weeks pregnant. No shot you're getting on a plane. Nope. End of discussion." he had his arms crossed, and his thin, arched eyebrows were in a disturbed frown.

"Lou," Harry would whine, "we won't be allowed to travel at all for a really long time,"

"and I wanna take you back home. Mom's away in Paris 'til after Halloween. We'd have a massive cabin all to ourselves."  Louis met his gaze then, a shy smirk spreading across Harry's cheeks as he blushed scarlet.

"And the water's still warm back home, and a big shower, and-" Harry stopped, "I may have already bought our tickets." He winced this time.

Louis wanted to be mad, and he was for a moment, but at the sight of Harry's pleading green eyes and the way his hand palmed his tummy, he softened and let out a heavy sigh.

"Alright, darling." He stood, planting a soft kiss to Harry's temple, which stayed a kiss.

"When do we leave?" His Harry squealed, locking his arms behind Louis' feathery hair and sinking into him. His bump slammed against Louis' hips, a sensation the blue eyed boy grew to know and love.

Within days they were boarding a 737 at O'Hare Airport, preparing for the heavy travel ahead of them. It felt silly, the fact they spent every waking moment with one another yet hadn't taken time off for a small vacation. Harry was so damn giddy, and throughout their entire round of scat the poor pregnant man was squirming for the seat belt light to ding because the pressure on his tiny bladder was getting worse and worse every waking moment.