“Yeah, we’re definitely pregnant”, the doctor sighed, sitting back in his chair and tossing a sheaf of papers across his desk. “Color me impressed, kids. I didn’t think you guys had a hope on God’s green earth.” The doctor wordlessly reached out his fist to him, and he bumped it. Why shouldn’t he be proud, he thought to himself? Hadn’t he just proven himself to be a super-stud?
 
“Now, you already know the drill from the last few weeks, Rarity, and I’m sure you do too, son, but I’ll say it anyway—no drinking, no smoking, no drugs, watch your diet, and not too much exercise. And I know you don’t want to hear it, Rarity”, she shifted in her seat uncomfortably, “but I gotta say it: the older a mother is, the more likely the chance of birth defect, or miscarriage. You know that, I’ve told you that, and I’m not saying it’s a guarantee, but I won’t make any promises that it won’t happen, either. Oh, and on a happier note, you can look forward to a massive libido spike, especially for the next three months or so.” The doctor looked directly at him, over his glasses, with an ‘I pity you’ look. “Alright? Anything else?”
 
They looked at each other, then back at him, and shook their heads. “We’ve done our homework”, she said proudly, fingers closing over his.
 
“Well, she has, anyway”, he admitted. She looked back to him and stuck her tongue out. “I love you too, duchess.”
 
The doctor stood up, and they followed suit. “Alright, no relationship wars in my office.” She reached out her hand to shake the doctor’s, and so did he. “I’m rooting for you guys, really. Come back in a couple months, and gimme a call if there’s anything unusual, or need anything, or whatever. Now scram.”
 
The door shut with the heavy, emotionless ‘whump-crack’ that only the doors of doctors’ offices and cops’ interrogation rooms could make, and they walked on down the hall. Her fingers idly drummed against her tummy. “I wonder if he can hear that?” he asked to nobody in particular.
 
And eyebrow rose. “He? What makes you so sure it’s a he? Why not a she?”
 
He snickered. These little wars were the highlight of his day, enough fun to justify getting in trouble with her for arguing. “Listen, lady, I listened to Motörhead the entire time we were on that damn plane to Belgium. My sperm came out wearing freaking Viking helmets. I’m surprised they didn’t try to invade Poland.”
 
“Yes, your testosterone is deeply impressive, darling. Unfortunately for you, however, I’m not old enough to be intimidated by a little show of patriarchal chest-thumping. And besides—oh, I’m too tired to win this argument myself. Can you just submit for me? Please? Pweese?” Her eyes grew huge, and her lips pouted tremendously. “Pweese? Foah Wawity?”
 
He shuddered. “Alright, fine, you win, we’re having a girl. Just, no more baby talk. Jesus.”
 
He opened the car’s door for her, and she climbed in. She’d insisted that he drive her as much as possible throughout the pregnancy, being too “hormonally-driven to drive”, she had said once. He went around and let himself in, getting behind the wheel.
 
“I remember this hospital. Do you know where from?” He shook his head, not really listening, too busy fiddling with the stereo to pay attention. He really wanted to hear Powerman 5000. “I came here with your mother when she was pregnant with you.”
 
She fancied she could already feel her daughter kicking. Just like her father, so impatient to get into the world. The hospital pulled away.
 
*
 
The pregnancy progressed without problem or issue, and before long, she knew she could feel the baby kicking. The doctor was right, as doctors so often are, and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Not that they ever particularly could or even would keep their hands off each other before the pregnancy, of course, but now it was worse than ever; massages would turn into sex, footrubs would turn into sex, midnight Safeway runs to satisfy that pickles-and-grape jelly craving would turn into sex, hugs would turn into sex, going out for a nice evening of dinner and a movie would turn into sex, fights would turn into sex, makeups would turn into sex; honestly, it would be quicker to list the things that didn’t turn into sex.
 
They would be out, walking down the street, window-shopping (“slumming it”, she called it), when a touch would last a heartbeat too long, or a glace would peer slightly too deep. She (and it was usually her who began these little public trysts) would drag him back to the car to drive them home, or at the very least to find an empty street to park down. If the car was too far, it was into the bathroom of a restaurant or club for a quickie, or at least an inconspicuous fingering under the table if the stalls were too small for her to comfortably negotiate. They usually got away with it—usually. They did get banned for life from a Denny’s and two movie theaters. “I’ll get my father to buy the buildings and I’m going to personally evict the motherfuckers”, she vowed. Her sexual appetite had always been prodigious, but it was something to behold now. He had actually called and asked the doctor if it was normal. The doctor assured him it was, and that he should just enjoy the ride.
 
At home, it was worse than ever before, “worse” being a figure of speech. The routine was always the same. She had kept her hectic schedule largely intact, constantly flitting around the city, going from meting to meeting, trying—and nearly always succeeding—to simultaneously manage her father’s small empire and her own small empire, and always succeeding at looking good pregnant in a suit. When she got home, she busied herself however she could until he arrived, be it catching up on Real Housewives or drawing up a plan for a dress she never intended to finish. But the second she heard his car’s clatter-clatter down the road, she dropped everything.
 
“Hi there”, she purred, leaning against the door. He pulled her into a kiss, leaning over her belly. “I’ve got a problem. Want to help?”
 
“Well, maybe just this once.” His hands went instinctively to the bump in her tummy, but she grabbed them and placed them on her tits. They weren’t exactly subtle before, but now she could feel the men in her office absolutely ache when she walked by. She moaned as his rough fingers kneaded her breast-flesh, the same hormones responsible for her au-naturel boob job making them extra-sensitive.  He tugged slightly at the top of the shirt, and she twirled about with a coy grin, unbuttoning her shirt and letting him pull it off her, then doing the same for her bra. She spun back to him, and the smirk turned into an expression of bliss, washed over by the sensations of his fingers pinching her puffy nipples and mashing into her breasts.
 
Sex wasn’t easy for them as the pregnancy grew longer, but they managed well. The doctor had warned them that many positions would become unavailable to them in the coming months, and again, he had proven to be annoyingly correct. But for every one they lost, Rarity researched, discussed with her girlfriends, or out-and-out made up a new one. He gently nudged her against the wall, turning her about with one hand and lifting up the hem of her skirt with the other. She hadn’t bothered to wear panties for the last two weeks or so. She cooed as she felt his hands roaming over her femininity, but the feathery sensations only made her hungrier for more. She felt like a twenty-something again, she was so sensitive now. A gasp slipped between her lips as he slipped a finger into her.
 
She spread her legs wide, bracing up against the wall with her hands. She heard the buckling and rustling of his pants opening, and she shoved her ass out as far as it could go, waggling it under his nose, trying to entice him with the most overt display of sexuality she could manage. Her eyes closed in Christ-like contentment as he slipped inside her, and her arms nearly buckled from the sensation. A hand slipped down from her breast to her belly, feeling the life growing inside it, while the other pinched her nipple. She gasped, eyes rolling back in her head, and she could feel her knees starting to buckle beneath her. He felt it too, increasing his pace and wrapping his arms beneath her belly, holding her up and supporting the both of them with his strength. “Oh, God, I’ve been waiting all day for this”, she hissed between clenched teeth. He could feel how close she was getting already; the pregnancy didn’t just spike her sex drive a few dozen notches, it made her a lot more responsive to stimulation, too. She screamed, her head thrown back over her shoulders and hair whipping around, as she came, still speared on his erect cock. A shadow of annoyance crossed over his face, not pleased at having to stop already.
 
“What, you’re not done?” she panted. “That’s good, because neither am I. Why don’t you go lay down, darling, I’ll be with you in a moment.”
 
He laid down on the couch, and he didn’t have to wait long for her. She wore nothing now, her sex-swollen breasts and belly standing out proudly, hands on her hips, her long legs still weak in the knees. She grinned and turned her back to him as she sat down. A weird noise, something between a squeak and a groan, worked its way from her lips as she sat down on him. She bucked on him, hands mashing at her tits, and his pinching the skin on her hips as he helped pick her up and drop her back down. “Your daughter is kicking”, she told him.
 
With a new fury, he drove up into her, each thrust making the flesh of her ass jiggle wonderfully; if he wasn’t so lost in primal passion, he might have been entranced by it. She knew exactly what he liked, better than any other woman he’d known, and he was pleased to see that the pregnancy hadn’t stopped her from being able to do that thing with her hips. And for her part, she was pleased to see that the pregnancy hadn’t stopped him from thinking she was the sexiest thing on two legs. He came inside her after bringing her to another screeching orgasm, and she fell on him, laying with her back on his stomach.
 
His arms wrapped around her protectively, and she smiled to feel it, a hand entwining its long, pale, delicate fingers with his. “Do you know why I love you?” she asked him, breathing in deep lungfuls of his scent.
 
He thought for a moment. “I’m good in bed?”
 
“You got it”, she said with a tinkling laugh, a sound like light on a waterfall. She turned on her side to him, and her hair fell into his face.
 
“Mmph. Thanks.” He spat it out, and she stuck her tongue out at him. “Hey, I got a question to ask you”, he continued after some time. She said nothing, too busy playing with a single strand of his hair that she could never quite get to behave, no matter how much she tried to bring it in line. It would always stubbornly stick up, or fall to the side, do the exact opposite of what she did to the rest of it. It was infuriating beyond measure.
 
“Well, I was thinking, I’ve been with you for, what, eighteen months?”
 
“Twenty in two weeks.”
 
“Whatever. Nearly two years. And of those twenty months, we’ve been living together for more than a year. Hell, I can’t even remember what my old room used to look like.”
 
She sat up. He now had her full attention. “So, what are you saying, exactly?”
 
“Well, look at what’s happened, duchess.” He patted her stomach, sitting up with her on the couch. “And I was thinking. I—Jesus Christ, I thought it was supposed to be you who got caught up on words?”
 
She smiled, her eyes not quite catching his, instead focusing on his cheekbones. “It’s about time you got to feel what it’s like, darling.”
 
He bent down to his pants, lying discarded on the ground, and fished out a small black box. Her eyes went wide, and she felt the bottom of her stomach, the bottom of her entire world, drop out. He got up off the couch, only to kneel in front of her, holding the box in one hand, the fingers of her left hand in the other. The room was spinning, and tears were forming at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a little girl”, she whispered under her breath to no-one in particular, too quiet for him to hear her.
 
He opened it. “Will you marry me?”
 
It was a modest ring, a band of straight gold with a single, small diamond set atop it. She had seen more beautiful rings in her life, she thought to herself, but right now, she was having the damnedest time remembering what they looked like. The tears rolled out of her eyes and down her cheeks. “Yes, you asshole, I’ll marry you.”
 
He slipped he ring onto her finger, and she slipped off the couch and onto him, as best she could with her belly in the way.
 
*
 
The sensor roved over her stomach in the doctor’s hand, gliding over the gel on her skin. Their eyes were glued to the screen. “See? There’s your baby. And... Yeah. Looks like she’s a girl. “ A smirk blossomed on Rarity’s face. He quietly slipped a twenty-dollar bill into her waiting hand, and she quietly slipped a hissed “I told you so” into his ear.
 
“Oh, were we hoping for a boy, dad?”
 
Rarity cut him off before he could do anything but laugh politely. “Oh, don’t mind him. He just liked being contrarian. It’s not a good day until he’s argued with me five times. I’m always right, of course. Don’t you ever get tired of losing, darling?”
 
He turned to her, and eyebrow raised high. If nothing else, his time with Rarity had sharpened his tongue (and his sense of humor) to knife-edged and needle-points. But he knew better than to unleash verbal savagery on his pregnant fiancée. So instead, he turned to the doctor. “There’s a chance you’re wrong, and that’s a boy, right?”
 
The doctor nodded. “We can do another ultrasound on another day, I guess, if you’d like.”
 
“No, that will be quite alright”, Rarity broke in.
 
“Outta sight, outta mind, huh, duchess?”
 
“Oh, of course, dear.” He smiled daggers at him. Pregnancy was fun, he decided.
 
*
 
The kicks came more and more frequently now, and so did the pain. She’d wince, put a hand to her belly, and give him a death-glare, her eyes saying “You did this to me, it’s your fault I’m getting the living shit kicked out of me.” Then the pain would fade, replaced by the sensations of motherhood, and so would the hate. She’d draw closer to him and hold tightly against his body, her eyes now saying “You did this to me, it’s because of you I get to feel these things. And all was well again.
 
*
 
Not with a whimper but a bang did their daughter announce her arrival into the world. Rarity’s water broke while she was driving to work, and, he had to give her credit, she managed not only to drive herself to the hospital, but also to explain to her client on the phone why she suddenly had a twinge of panic in her voice. “No need to make an undue fuss”, she told him later. By the time he got the call and got over to the hospital, traffic in San Francisco being what it is, she was “just about ready to pop”, her father, Buck, had said. He was there by himself, armed with a video camera and orders to capture the entire birth, Rarity’s mother still in the hospital, resting after a facelift. He was a nice guy, and had never been anything but friendly with him, but after all those football knocks to the head, he was a few players short of a team.
 
Tears were welling up in her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to allow them to roll down her cheek. Instead, she had swapped crying and screaming or shouting a litany of non-sequitor obscenities into the air with such venom as to make a Marine blush. “Fucking sonovabitch cocksucker! Oh, God, if you assholes don’t get this goddamn baby outta me, I’m gonna get off this fucking bed and shove my fist up your dick. You’re gonna get your ass kicked by a pregnant chick, jackass.”
 
He stood by Buck, watching the spectacle with mild interest. Buck snuffled, and wiped a tear from his eye. “I done good, son. I taught my little girl right. Listen to that, huh? Swearin’ like a sailor. Warms the cockles of my heart, man.” He readjusted his grip on the camera. “And I’m glad to have a granddaughter, hold your horses”, he added, seeing his future son-in-law’s questioning look. “Be good, having another kid around. Y’know. Another little girl. More dresses and dolls and tea parties and shit like that. Yeah. Peachy. C’mon, let’s get in there. Her mother’s gonna kill both of us if we don’t get this on camera.” The doctor opened the door, and they went inside.
 
“C’mon, honey, push, ya wimp!” Buck shouted, and she shot him an arctic glare. Through gritted teeth, she screamed at him. “Listen, old man, you push a watermelon outta your dick and then you talk to me about ‘push, you wimp’. I hope Mom kicks your ass when she sees this. Mom, kick his ass.” Her fingers tightened on his, and he was pretty sure they were starting to turn blue.
 
Buck grinned. “I think you’re squeezin’ the poor kid’s hand off there, princess.”
 
“Good! He should—“ Whatever he should do was cut off when she threw back her head and let loose a long, wordless howl. And then it was over. After sixteen hours of labor, she had stopped screaming, and now a new, quiet, high-pitched voice had started screaming. Their daughter.
 
Buck leapt into the air, both hands raised, and began his old football victory dance. “Well, that was unexpected”, the doctor said, bringing their daughter around to them. “Your daughter has a penis. Say hello to your son, guys.”
 
She held her son, staring at him for a long time. Then he leaned down to her and whispered: “You owe me that twenty bucks back, babe.” She said nothing, but turned to him and kissed him.
 
Her father was still celebrating, now attempting to perform a very bad moonwalk. Even back in the day, he was never able to do it right. “Oh, God, finally someone I can teach about football. Finally, another Packers fan in my house. Number eighty-three is back, baby, the Magnum is back!”