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Stiles groaned, holding his back with one hand and the edge of the table with the other as he lowered his swollen body carefully into a chair. Sitting made his butt sore, but standing made his back and his ankles sore. He hadn’t been totally comfortable since he’d caught this freaky disease a month ago. “I can’t decide if this is one of the worst things to happen to me, or one of the best,” he told Peter.
Looking up from the book he was bent over, Peter shot Stiles an incredulous look. “How could this be one of the best?”
Stiles nibbled on a saltine carefully. He was pretty sure his stomach had settled—for now—but pretty sure was never 100% sure. “There aren’t that many guys out there who can genuinely understand what it feels like to be pregnant,” Stiles said. “I know this isn’t exactly the same, especially since I’m not getting a kid out of it, but it’s pretty damn close.” He shrugged. “I like the idea that I’ll get it when my friends start working on kids.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Shall I hold off on the research for another eight months, then?”
“Oh hell no.”