victormakesart | (no subject)

(no subject)

Victor reads The Very Hungry Caterpillar, The Grouchy Ladybug, and Where the Wild Things Are (thrice, twice, and five times respectively) for the girls, and she gives them kisses goodnight. Then she reads part of a motor manual for Jude (yes, but he requested it), and tucks him in, and then Anya starts crying and she has to go put her back to sleep (Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you See, read four times).

By the time she makes it to the couch, it's nine-thirty and she's yawning.

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"Nope. But you should see him, he's adorable. Green face, little red horns, red eyes, red mouth. He's like a work of art."

"Don't those colors clash a bit?"

"That's what I love about him. Red and green are on opposite ends of the color wheel. They make each other brighter."

He smiles and shakes his head a little. She's always been an artist, and it will never stop. "Plus he'll blend in at Christmas?"

She giggles a little, pinches the fabric of his shirt to move it aside so she can kiss the skin on his shoulder. "I suppose that's true, too."

He makes an appreciative noise, and gives her one of those fond I-know-what-you're-up-to looks. "You look like you're going to fall asleep on me."

"It's been a long week," she admits, pushing the gentlest of teeny tiny kisses to the side of his neck, right under his ear.

He sets the needle aside again, this time with a feeling of finality to it. He's not going to finish this tonight, it's clear. "You having any trouble keeping up with the kids?" he asks, raising one hand to touch her cheek, drawing her up to kiss with her with lazy, relaxed kisses.

"A little, sometimes. It's mostly hard when I've gotta sit, or lie down, and get up again." A pleased shiver, she leans into the kiss, kisses him again, loving the complete lack of pressure. "Thinkin' of working out some sort of system for things I've gotta get."

"What kind of things?" he asks, leaning into her too, just for the closeness.

She touches the skin of his arm, the skin of his stomach, glorying in warmth, in texture. "Maybe a modified skateboardy thing, for when I'm on the floor with the kids and I have to get something I can't reach, I could just sorta scoot on over, grab it, scoot back."

"I think I remember those from elementary school gym class," he says with a little smile.

"Yeah, kinda like that." She smooths her fingers against his right cheekbone.

He's quiet for a moment, not sure how to ask, or whether he should. "Do you think three is your limit?"

She breathes in because her stomach gives a little jolt, like that feeling before you get big news, and she shakes her head. "Definitely not."

"I know we've talked about it before, but I've been feeling more and more like I shouldn't wait to have kids of my own," he admits.

"Is this a rushy panicky feeling or a ready calm feeling?"

"I've been thinking about it for a while, so I'm leaning more towards the latter."

"Oh my gosh, we're gonna have a baby," she murmurs, pushing a gentle kiss to his lips. "You're, you're sure, and everything?"

"I'm not getting any younger... but I don't want you to be overwhelmed, either."

"You're so young," she says, kissing his forehead, his temples. "It'll be alright. It'll be good. The girls aren't baby-babies anymore; they can communicate what they want, sometimes."

"Doesn't mean it'll be easy. And we'll need to find a surrogate, or something..."

"We'll figure it out. Oh, honey, we're gonna have a baby!"

He smiles, seeing that she doesn't seem anxious about it at all, nothing but enthusiasm. Though she really, really likes babies. So there's that. "Yeah. I hope so."

She brushes his hair back, rests forehead to forehead. "We'll work it out, promise. You deserve to have a kid. A beautiful, brilliant, fantastic kid. Here I'm assumin' it'll get most of your genes." A playful smile, a deliberate little nuzzle.