Chapter Text
It has been two months since his last period. By this point in Lovino's transition, that alone isn't enough to worry him, as he is more than used to inconsistency with his cycle. No, the issues come primarily from how active he's been with his partners in recent months, coinciding with their first move-in together as a group, as well as the fact he's been off testosterone for nearly a year. Which is exactly what brings him to stare down the row of pregnancy tests at a not-so-local drug store. Because, yes, he did drive three towns over to avoid literally anyone he could ever possibly know... Not that he is the most sociable person in town, but it's better to be safe than sorry. He just can't risk having anyone recognize him, and wearing Gilbert's too-big hoodie paired with Francis' darkest sunglasses might not be enough to obscure his identity. But dammit, he's going to try and be anonymous!
He wishes the feminine hygiene aisle would be a little less, well, feminine. How many girls even like this loud pink blasted everywhere during the most awkward times of their lives? Even when Lovino was a kid, he had very much enjoyed wearing big, pink, frilly gowns alongside his sister's soft green, but when it came time to buy pads and tampons? Oh, no. Part of him wants to joke that it was the sheer embarrassment he felt standing in that aisle with his mom for the first time that made him reject girlhood altogether. Maybe there was some truth in that, but it definitely wasn't the only factor that pushed him to start sticking a needle in his arm once a week. Regardless of how he feels about the brightness of the aisle, and the way it brightens his own cheeks in humiliation, Lovino does still need to take a test and become positive that he's not pregnant.
As he walks up to the counter, clutching one of those annoyingly pink boxes in his hand, his mind starts to wander. Many, many, many memories flood his consciousness, reminding him of the various interactions he's had with the three idiots that boldly call him their boyfriend. It isn't exactly the most important thing to know, as how they raise the child won't be changed by the answer, but there's still a few things that are relevant when it comes to the baby's genetics. Like if Gil is the father, there's bound to be some concern with his albinism, and who knows if Antonio's stupidity is contagious. They had a conversation once about Francis' depression, too, and Lovino's fairly certain that can be inherited. Of course, there's also the trouble of when this all happened, because he should know how far along into the pregnancy he even is—
"Woah, are you alright?" the cashier asks him, a little frazzled by watching a grown man smack himself upside the head. There's no need to be thinking about sinful acts in public, but maybe he should consider cutting those bastards off from sex for a while... Hah! As if Lovino isn't guilty of initiating most encounters himself. But that's beside the point! He doesn't even know if he is pregnant yet; the test could come back negative, for all he knows. Hopes.
Summoning his deepest register, Lovino nods his head. "Yeah, sorry, I was getting a little ahead of myself." He sets the obnoxiously bright box up on the counter, risking a glance at the attendant's smug face. The regret is almost immediate, feeling as if his chest was about to burst from his binder's confines, that his voice was pitched too high and melodic, his hands too dainty as they rested on the counter, all the traits he knows exist and are bound to expose his darkest secret; it's really only a matter of time.
"Had too much fun with your girlfriend?" His cocky grin isn't exactly necessary, or really at all appreciated, but a calmness washes over Lovino at those words. There was no assumption that he had gotten pregnant, and there has to be some gratitude given for that. Which, Lovino thinks as he scratches the stubble on his chin, actually makes a lot more sense. Maybe he should go without shaving more.
"Something like that," Lovino mutters, swiping his credit card through the machine. He's earned a hearty laugh from the sleazy store clerk, but at least the guy double-bags his test to spare him from any further embarrassment. He avoids any eye contact with other patrons as he quickly shuffles through the automatic doors, diving into his car as quickly as possible to speed home and avoid any more encounters. All he needs to do now is piss and get his, hopefully, negative test results.
...
The plus sign meets his glare with nearly just as much intensity, mockingly dark and stubbornly there, as if there was no other conclusion it could have come up with. He's half tempted to snap it, right then and there, to pretend like it never existed, throw it away in the trash and move on. Only once does the idea of getting rid of the damn thing cross his mind, but Lovino disregards that immediately. He knows that one way or another, usually by rifling through the trash as he cleans, Gilbert will find out about it. And when he does find out, he's going to be heartbroken that Lovino would ever rob him of the opportunity to be a parent. It's something they had talked about before, back in high school, when it was still only the two of them. Besides, it was (and to some extent, still is) something he's always wanted: to have a kid. He just figured that they'd end up adopting, not actually giving birth!
His phone buzzes beside him, up on the edge of the sink, snapping him out of his staring contest with the taunting, definitive plus sign. As he stands up to rinse off the stick — because there's no way in Hell he's going to let something covered in piss sit in his pocket — he has only a second to wonder which of the idiots is blowing up his phone. Lovino unlocks the screen, immediately bombarded by three more messages with Francis scrawled at the top of each notification. He had run off to the bakery while Lovino was gone, and while sweet of him to announce his incoming arrival, he didn't have to send a million selfies that barely show off the decor!
Stuffing the test into his front pocket, Lovino sends off one text effectively telling the blonde to shut up, I'll see your dumb face when you get home, so hurry! without sounding too needy. Hopefully... Probably not. Whatever! He needs to get ready to break the news anyway, and Francis is likely going to be the easiest for him to figure out what he wants to actually say. It's as he heads into the kitchen to brew himself a small espresso that his mind starts to traipse through old memories from the past few months. While the two of them don't have penetrative sex often, Francis was always one to prefer things "all natural" regardless if his dick was in Lovino's mouth or slamming inside his vagina. A pleased shiver flew down his spine as he very distinctly remembered what they got up to during his birthday in the summer...
Francis gripped the side of Lovino's plump thigh, holding it tightly against his waist as his hips rocked forward in a gentle rhythm. Their love-making, as rare as it happened, was always like that: slow, unrushed, allowing them to get wholly caught up in each other. Lovino's typically foul mouth was nipping love bites into the pale shoulder above him, his blunt nails clawing red marks into Francis' back. The blonde felt like he was being driven mad, being touched with such hunger, but he was determined to make his delightful present last as long as possible.
He propped himself up on his elbows, unwittingly thrusting much too quickly into that tight warmth when Lovino whimpered oh-so-pitifully about losing the friction between their chests. From his new perch, Francis was able to watch his lover's face fall apart, to see it scrunch up in his overwhelmed state before relaxing into another moan. A few whispered words of praise, naturally of his mother's tongue, were hardly audible over the wet slaps from where they connected, yet Lovino reacted wonderfully all the same. His back arched, trying to push himself onto Francis, to work himself towards a quicker orgasm, but there would be none of that.
Immediately, as Francis' hand rested between them, thumb dipping down to stimulate Lovino's clitoris, his lithe body seized up in pure pleasure, airy gasps falling from his lips. Francis leaned down to swallow them all in an open-mouthed kiss, much too sloppy and uncoordinated than either of them would prefer, normally, but were too close to even give a damn.
Those gorgeous legs tightened around Francis' waist all on their own, a desperate attempt to cease their shaking as they both neared their climax. It was that very move that kept them trapped in that position, as Francis moaned through his orgasm.
"Qu'est-ce qui se passe, mon loup?"
Lovino jumps at the voice, having been too lost in embarrassing memories to even hear the door of their home open. He grabs his cup of espresso, a little too eagerly, and downs it in an attempt to hide his no doubt flustered face. It's a weak attempt at regaining composure, but he knows damn well that he'll never hear the end of it if Francis caught him thinking about their sexual escapades. That, however, is the end of Lovino's predictions for their conversation. There's no telling how exactly he might react to the news, and it's a little hard to determine how to approach the topic at all. "Nothing, nothing's wrong," he lies as he finishes the small drink.
He moves over to the sink, placing the empty cup in the basin to try and give himself another moment of thought. Should he phrase his unexpected pregnancy as a good thing, he wonders as the water slowly creeps up in temperature, as something for them to celebrate? Or will Francis be the kind of person to run away from this level of commitment? God, he hopes that won't be true. Lovino must be scrubbing the cup too hard while stuck in his internal conflict, as Francis' hands quickly invade their way into his space.
"Well," Francis hums, taking the sudsy cup from the other to rinse off himself, then sets it upside down beside all of his groceries on the counter. "Even if there's nothing wrong, per se, you certainly have something swirling in that beautiful mind of yours." His hands are quickly dried off with the towel hanging on the stove, then placed on Lovino's shoulder with a subtle push, getting the still-frozen brunette to turn away from the running water. "You know you can tell me anything."
Lovino can feel his neck warming as he reaches into his pocket, fishing out the white stick with that damningly dark plus etched into it. That blush spreads, fully blossoming across his cheeks as Francis' eyes widen, darting between the undoubtedly positive result and Lovino's face, as if he cannot believe what he's seeing. "I... I still need to schedule a doctor's appointment to see how far along I am but..." he murmurs, staring down to avoid that astonished look.
"Oh, Lovino..." His tongue darts nervously across his lips, clearly trying to find the right words to say. Yet, for once in his life, Francis' grace and charisma fail him as he stumbles into very much the wrong train of thought. "I can help you hide this from Gil, he won't know a thing about any of this until you get it—"
"I'm keeping it."
Francis ceases his yapping instantly, mouth hanging open mid-sentence as his brain rewires and tries to figure out the best course of action. For a moment, Lovino thinks he's going to be mad, scared, or even laugh in his face. But then he can see the tears welling up in those deep blue eyes, a smile creeping up his cheeks marked by nothing but pure excitement. "Really?" He practically breathes the word, so overwhelmed with joy for the thing brewing inside Lovino. "You're not worried about..?" His hands unabashedly come up to grope his partner's chest, who scoffs and bats him away.
"It's not like I've gotten surgery yet. I can always get that done after it no longer needs to be breastfed." Lovino reaches to the side, finally turning off the faucet, then pokes his still-damp finger right into Francis' chest. "And you need to get a job while I take maternity leave. I refuse to let our finances go to shit while I'm hiding my fat stomach at home."
"D'accord, mon loup, d'accord." He drapes his arms over Lovino's shoulders, dramatic as ever, listing into him as he mourns his jobless freedom. "I will miss the wonderful affairs of being your humble housewife, doing your cooking and cleaning and shopping for you. Do take a video of your chores for me, hm? So I don't feel so weary," he crooned, with a sniffle to really sell it.
"You will still be cooking and cleaning for me," Lovino retorts, any venom he intended lost amidst an uncharacteristic chortle. "Until I figure out which of you bastards actually did this to me, I'm gonna be treating all of you like the culprit. Nobody's innocent in this ordeal."
Scoffing, Francis stands up straight so that he's no longer leaning down to Lovino's height, removing his arms to fold across his chest. "As if the answer isn't obvious."
Lovino raises an eyebrow at that. Obvious? He's the one who actually got pregnant, and even he can't see an obvious answer. Unless, that is, Francis also remembers his birthday present — which, seeing it was a damn good present, he should! — and has come to the conclusion that he is the father...
"It's rare for both you and Antonio to be home and not entirely wrapped up with each other." That perverted smirk curls up his lip as he speaks, almost goading Lovino into a reaction. "Rather, I should say you're in each other~"
Alright, that's more than enough of that for one day. "Pervert," Lovino hisses, shoving Francis aside to march out of the kitchen. It takes a few moments of pompous laughter before the blonde realizes he was left all alone to put away the groceries. Serves him right. Besides, Lovino needs to get ready for the next boyfriend to come home.