The dim glow of a single lamp cast long shadows across the cramped living room of Andrew and Neil’s tiny apartment. The air was heavy with the scent of stale coffee and the faint tang of antiseptic from the half-packed hospital bags strewn across the floor. Baby gear—cribs still in boxes, stacks of diapers, and a tangle of onesies—cluttered every corner, a chaotic testament to the storm that was about to break. Andrew, heavily pregnant with twins and teetering on the edge of early labor, perched uncomfortably on the sagging couch, his face a mask of barely contained agony. His swollen belly strained against the fabric of his stretched-out T-shirt, the twins inside him pressing down with a synchronized malice that sent sharp, relentless waves of pain through his already battered body.
He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead, as he fought to keep his composure. No way in hell was he letting these little tyrants crown right here on this godforsaken couch, in the middle of their messy, unprepared apartment. Not on his watch. He cursed under his breath, a string of colorful expletives that would’ve made a sailor blush, as he willed the twins to stay put just a little longer.
Neil, blissfully oblivious to the battlefield unfolding mere feet away, sprawled on the other end of the couch, his long legs kicked up on the coffee table. His thumbs danced across the screen of his phone, the tinny sounds of some mindless game blaring through the tense silence. Andrew shot him a withering glance, his hazel eyes narrowing as another contraction ripped through him. How the hell could Neil just sit there, lost in pixelated nonsense, while he was fighting for his damn life over here?
“Neil,” Andrew snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut glass, though it trembled slightly at the edges. “You planning to save the world on that stupid game, or are you gonna look up long enough to notice I’m about to pop?”
Neil’s head jerked up, his dark eyes blinking in confusion as he fumbled to pause the game. “Huh? What’s that, babe? You say something?” He grinned, that infuriatingly charming lopsided smile of his, and Andrew had to resist the urge to throw a nearby pacifier at his head.
“Oh, nothing important,” Andrew drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he shifted on the couch, wincing as the twins seemed to take that as a personal challenge to kick harder. “Just thought you might like to know your spawn are trying to stage a jailbreak. But by all means, keep slaying dragons or whatever the hell you’re doing.”
Neil chuckled, setting the phone down and scooting closer, his broad shoulders brushing against Andrew’s tense frame. “Come on, Drew, you’re tougher than a damn tank. Those kids don’t stand a chance against you.” His voice was warm, teasing, but there was a flicker of concern in his gaze as he finally noticed the sheen of sweat on Andrew’s brow. “You okay, though? You look... intense.”
“Intense?” Andrew barked a laugh, though it came out more like a hiss as another wave of pain gripped him. “Neil, I’ve got two linebackers doing synchronized swimming in here, and they’re using my spine as a diving board. ‘Intense’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
Neil’s grin faltered, and he reached out, his large hand hovering uncertainly over Andrew’s belly. “Shit, babe, why didn’t you say something sooner? What do you need? Water? A pillow? I can call the hospital—”
“No hospital,” Andrew cut him off, his voice firm despite the strain. “Not yet. I’m not having these gremlins in the back of an ambulance or on some shitty hospital gurney before I’m ready. I’ve got this.” He didn’t, not really, but he wasn’t about to admit that. Not to Neil, not to anyone. He’d been fighting tooth and nail for hours, using every ounce of willpower—and a few desperate, manual interventions—to push the twins back up, to delay the inevitable. It was grueling, excruciating work, each movement a battle against his own body, but Andrew was nothing if not stubborn.
Neil raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back, his gaze sliding over Andrew with a mix of admiration and mischief. “Alright, tough guy. You’re the boss. But if you’re gonna play superhero, at least let me be your sidekick. What’s the plan?”
Andrew’s lips twitched into a smirk despite the pain, his mind racing as a wild, utterly insane idea took root. He’d been mulling it over for the last hour, a desperate last resort born of sheer exhaustion and the need to buy time. And it all hinged on Neil—or, more specifically, on a certain impressive asset of Neil’s that Andrew had always appreciated in... other contexts.
“Oh, I’ve got a plan,” Andrew said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr as he locked eyes with Neil. “But it’s gonna require your full attention, sweetheart. Think you can tear yourself away from your virtual conquests for a few minutes?”
Neil blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone, but his grin returned, wider and more wicked than before. “Hell, Drew, you’ve got my attention now. Lay it on me. What’s this master plan of yours?”
Andrew shifted again, this time with purpose, maneuvering himself with a grunt of effort until he was straddling Neil’s lap, his heavy belly pressing against Neil’s chest. The position was awkward as hell, and the pain was blinding, but Andrew masked it with a steely determination and a smirk that could’ve melted steel. He leaned in close, his breath hot against Neil’s ear as he murmured, “Let’s just say I need a... distraction. Something to take the edge off. And lucky for me, you’ve got exactly what I need.”
Neil’s eyes widened, a flush creeping up his neck as his hands instinctively settled on Andrew’s hips, careful but firm. “Whoa, babe, you serious right now? You’re in labor, and you’re hitting on me? Not that I’m complaining, but—”
“Shut up,” Andrew growled, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he cut Neil off. “This isn’t about romance, Romeo. This is strategy. You’re gonna help me keep these brats in line, one way or another. So sit still, look pretty, and let me take the wheel. Got it?”
Neil swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he nodded, clearly torn between concern and the undeniable heat sparking between them. “Yes, ma’am—er, sir. Whatever you say. I’m all yours.”
“Good boy,” Andrew purred, his voice laced with biting wit as he adjusted his position, his hands gripping Neil’s shoulders for balance. “Now, let’s see if we can’t buy me a few more hours. And if you play your cards right, I might just let you take credit for saving the day.”
The tension in the room shifted, morphing into something electric, charged with desperation and a raw, unspoken need. Andrew was in control, as always, his fierce determination cutting through the pain as he orchestrated this outrageous, intimate intervention. The twins might be calling the shots inside him, but out here, in this messy little apartment, he was the one in charge—and he’d be damned if he let anyone, or anything, take that away from him. Not yet.
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