Snowman, Dots and Dashes

Title: Dots and Dashes
Rating/Warnings: R, mpreg
Summary: Maybe if they had actually used the condoms instead of laughing at them, Miyadate wouldn’t have gotten Watanabe pregnant.
AN: Written for Shiritori. So on my dash the other week there was the chubbiest Nabesho ever and it totally made me want fic where he’s knocked up, oops.

Dots and Dashes

The intimacy kit at the love hotel makes Watanabe laugh for five full minutes, and even Miyadate has to admit that two condoms and a feather tickler is not exactly a recipe for an unforgettable night of love-making. Or even an unforgettable hour.

The way Watanabe looks sprawled on his side, cheeks pink from laughing and eyes squeezed shut, goes a lot further towards getting Miyadate interested. Even when he’s just standing around, Watanabe takes Miyadate’s breath away. Relaxed and grinning up at Miyadate from his back, Watanabe makes Miyadate want to grab him with both hands and never, ever let go.

“Whoa,” Watanabe says when Miyadate flops down on him suddenly, pressing his face against Watanabe’s neck and inhaling the smell of his skin as deeply as he can. Watanabe curls arms around Miyadate’s back and squeezes him. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” Miyadate answers, pressing his mouth against Watanabe’s warm skin. Watanabe squirms in pleasure and tilts his head back for more, and Miyadate kisses all the skin he can reach. Watanabe groans his approval, making Miyadate’s heart race. “So loud.”

“You love it,” Watanabe says breathlessly, and he’s right. Miyadate loves hearing all of Watanabe’s noises, and whenever they sneak away like this, it’s almost as if he’s trying to make up for the all the times they have to be quiet in their own houses or dressing rooms. “Touch me already, I want you.”

Miyadate’s in no particular rush, enjoying himself and taking his time long enough that eventually Watanabe shoves him over and climbs on top to take control. He looks amazing riding Miyadate, looking down at him with dark eyes and his hair falling in his face. He looks even better on his back when Miyadate turns the tables and tips him backwards, fucking him fast and deep as Watanabe curls his legs around Miyadate’s waist. Watanabe puts his hands over his head, and Miyadate laces their fingers together and holds on tightly as both of them start to fall apart.

“Mmmmmmm,” Watanabe praises when they’re clinging together afterwards, arms and legs still curled tightly around Miyadate like he doesn’t plan on ever letting go, and Miyadate agrees wholeheartedly.

A couple weeks later, the only sign that anything is different is that Watanabe inhales his own bento in ten seconds flat, and then casually starts to eat Miyadate’s. Everyone stares, because usually Watanabe eats about as much as a bird with a body image problem.

“M’hungry,” is his response through his full mouth when he notices them all watching. Sakuma offers him all his pickles, and Watanabe lights up like the sun.

Miyadate frowns. “You ate like three onigiri on the way in today, too. What’s up with you?”

“Dunno,” Watanabe says. “Gonna totally get sick when we have to dance.”

But he doesn’t, though, and after practice he eats enough salt ramen to feed Shintarou and Jesse combined. Whatever’s going on agrees with him; the stylists all start to comment on how clear his complexion is suddenly and how manageable his hair is getting. Watanabe brushes off their compliments easily, just wanting to be done with them so that he can curl back up with Miyadate. The clingyness is another symptom, although that one Miyadate doesn’t mind at all. He would hold Watanabe’s hand on national television and let Watanabe lean his head on his shoulder on the train any day of the week.

In the end, it’s actually Hashimoto who figures it out, although by accident.

“You’re all glowy,” he comments when he comes by to hassle Iwamoto for standing him up the other day. He reaches down to poke Watanabe’s cheek, Watanabe’s head pillowed comfortably in Miyadate’s lap as Miyadate splits a can of Pringles with him. If ‘splits’ means that Watanabe eats nine out of ten of them. Hashimoto eyes the little pile of wrappers in the combini bag. “Damn, you’re eating more than my sister did when she was knocked up last year. You haven’t been craving pickles, have you?”

Watanabe tilts his head thoughtfully, pausing mid-chew. He glances down at his belly, easy to do since he’s wearing just boxers like usual.

“Date-sama,” Hashimoto gasps in delight, “you dog.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Miyadate splutters.

It does not feel ridiculous when Miyadate is in the back of Watanabe’s mother’s lozenge-shaped car, being chauffeured to her OB-GYN, Watanabe chattering at her excitedly from the front seat. Watanabe took three pregnancy tests in a row, and Miyadate’s still not sure whether two blue lines means they passed or failed. Every minute or two, he catches Watanabe’s mother looking at him in the rearview mirror, and despite her reassuring if worried smile, Miyadate can’t help but be scared she’ll never make him her famous curry ever again if he really did knock her son up.

The next day at practice, Watanabe strolls in proudly brandishing an ultrasound, and Miyadate can’t tell whether the emotion making his whole stomach roll is excitement or terror. He does have to force himself not to lock Watanabe in a closet somewhere for his own safety when Watanabe assures them that he can dance and flip and do whatever until he starts to show and/or it starts to get uncomfortable.

The others take the news as well as can be expected, except for Fukazawa, who refuses to believe it’s not a Tackey prank until the first time he feels the Watanababy kick his palm. But that’s months later; for the meantime Sakuma teaches Watanabe prenatal stretches, Iwamoto starts working out how to modify their choreography to keep Watanabe active for as long as possible, and Abe reads roughly three dozen pregnancy books in the space of a week.

“Look!” Watanabe says when they’re curled up in Miyadate’s bed, holding up his phone so that Miyadate can see. “Abecchi sent me a drawing of what the baby looks like today!”

“…It’s a dot,” Miyadate says, but that doesn’t dim Watanabe’s enthusiasm one bit. “Tell Abe-chan there isn’t going to be an exam on this, so maybe he should study for his real university exams. Otherwise we’ll have two of you out on hiatus.”

Watanabe’s smile fades, and he fiddles with his phone unnecessarily. “Ne, Ryota? Are you mad at me?”

“What?” Miyadate frowns. “Of course not. Why would I be mad?”

“Because I got myself knocked up, obviously.” Watanabe lets his hands and phone fall into his lap, his usual cheer missing. “When Abe went on hiatus, you were mad at him. I know you didn’t want to be, but you were. Now I’m the one putting the group in danger, right? So are you mad at me too?”

Before he answers any of that, Miyadate tugs Watanabe into a tight hug and just holds him until the tense set of Watanabe’s shoulders eases.

“First of all,” he tells Watanabe, “you didn’t get yourself knocked up alone, clearly I was there too. Secondly, don’t get yourself all worked up over stuff like that. It isn’t good for the…the dot.”

“Baby,” Watanabe corrects softly. Miyadate hugs him all the tighter.

“It’s not good for the baby,” Miyadate repeats. “No, I’m not mad. I am worried you mother will hate me and never make me curry again.”

“Don’t be stupid, she gave up having any grandkids from me when we got married on the playground in the third grade,” Watanabe snorts. “She’s gonna be your biggest fan for life.”

“She should have warned me you were magic,” Miyadate teases.

“We should have used the intimacy kit,” Watanabe says glumly, and Miyadate laughs so hard he has to let go of Watanabe to curl on his side. He comes to rest with his cheek pressed against Watanabe’s thigh, his stomach sore. Watanabe brushes fingers through Miyadate’s hair. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh since we found out. You’re gonna worry the whole time, huh?”

“Obviously.” Miyadate presses his palm against Watanabe’s stomach. He’s got enough pudge now that it can’t be just from the amount he’s eating, but Miyadate likes it a lot. “My most important person is going to turn into my most important people soon, how can I not worry?”

“Ryota,” Watanabe murmurs, voice shaky. Miyadate looks up, worried he’s said the wrong thing again, but Watanabe is smiling at him even if his eyes are a little glassy. His hand tightens in Miyadate’s hair. “You’re my most important person, too.”

It really must be love, because Miyadate doesn’t even complain when Watanabe drags him out of their nice, warm bed for a midnight combini run on the grounds that if he doesn’t get some Crunky Chicken and black sesame ice cream right that second, he will actually die.

“How many more months of this?” Miyadate asks, but he grins when Watanabe sticks his tongue out at him.

“I’m gonna train dot-chan to kick you,” Watanabe reports. Miyadate laughs and rubs at Watanabe’s stomach, thinking that sounds like the best idea ever.

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