and baby makes ...five
The morning after Akira and Haru sleep in their own rooms, Shiro makes celebratory pancakes. The stack is so high that both cubs’ eyes boggle. “You don’t have to eat them all,” Shiro reassures them, “but you can have as many as you want, with whatever toppings you want.”
Akira wants jam, marshmallows, and peanut butter, and insists on keeping his pancakes in three separate piles according to their toppings, taking a bite of each one in sequence. Haru layers peanut butter, syrup, and chocolate chips into a tooth-rotting tower of carbs and sugar. Keith shudders to think of the cleanup to come. Combining pancakes and cubs has made an epic mess since day one -- which is why pancakes are only for special occasions.
Keith smiles to himself. This occasion is more special than Shiro knows. He wanders over to the counter, pours himself a cup of coffee and then grimaces. Shit. No coffee. He puts cream in it for Shiro instead, leans his hip against the counter and watches Shiro work on the last batch of pancakes.
“Might need to move your weights out of the old nursery,” he says casually.
“Hmm?” Shiro replies, wiggling the spatula under a pancake. He lifts it gently, his forearm flexing for the flip.
“Gonna need the room for the next one,” Keith says.
The pancake misses the pan entirely.
“W-what?” Shiro says. Keith reaches past him and turns the burner off. Shiro’s eyes are wide. He’s holding the spatula like he’s forgotten about it. Keith takes it from his loose fingers and draws Shiro’s hand to Keith’s belly.
“Number three.”
Shiro beams. Before Keith can blink, Shiro presses him into the counter. The kiss is a mess, as much laughter as desire, but Keith wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“Whath number three?” Akira lisps around a mouth full of pancake. “Papa? Daddy?”
Keith keeps kissing Shiro, his heart full. He’ll explain in a minute.