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Matthew Tkachuk didn’t consider himself to be an angry person.
Sure, his on-ice antics had cemented his reputation as the NHL’s mouthy Rat King and there was probably a Tkachuk-sized ass groove in every arena’s penalty box, but that’s where it ended. Really, he was just a loveable, curly-haired, 6ft 2 buddha, who wanted nothing more than peace and tranquility.
No, that was a lie. What Matthew wanted more than anything in the world was food. Lots of food. He wanted the entire contents of the fridge in his pregnant belly right now.
And his asshole German husband was fast asleep, snoring obnoxiously loud and completely oblivious to Matthew rapidly succumbing to starvation.
As he had been doing for well over an hour now, Matthew glared at the man lying beside him, his blue eyes boring into Leon’s thick skull. His husband’s face was peaceful in sleep, lines softened in his blissful unawareness of Matthew fading away to nothing. He usually loved watching Leon like this and would often lie awake just admiring his beautiful face and gently stroking his beard.
That was past Matthew. Current Matthew was going to pull Leon’s beard clean off his face if he didn’t wake up and feed him before he perished from hunger.
“Leon.” Matthew poked his cheek.
No response.
“Leon.” Matthew shoved him.
Still no response. Seething, Matthew pinched the man’s nostrils together and shoved him even harder. “LEON!”
There was a loud snort as Leon sat upright and jumped out of bed, only to slip on one of Bowie’s toys. Matthew heard a pained yelp from the floor before his husband’s bedhead popped up at the side of the mattress.
“That woke you up, didn’t it?” asked Matthew sarcastically.
“Matthew?” Leon’s voice sounded groggy and confused for all of two seconds before he leapt for the bedside lamp and switched it on.
“What’s wrong, liebling?” Leon demanded, eyes wide and worried. “Is it time?”
“No.” Matthew rubbed his bump and pouted at Leon, giving him his best ‘neglected and starving puppy dog’ eyes. “I’m hungry.”
Leon groaned in a rather overdramatic fashion and sunk back onto the floor. Asshole. Matthew hurled a pillow in his direction.
“If you think you’re going back to sleep and snoring like a fucking freight train without feeding me first, guess again. I’m starving and your children demand sustenance.”
Leon’s head immediately reappeared at this and he spluttered incredulously, “You just demolished an entire 4 cheese pizza topped with pickles and a whole garlic bread for dinner!”
Matthew’s eyes narrowed dangerously at this statement. “You saying I’m fat, Draisaitl?”
Yet another groan. “No.”
Matthew’s lip trembled and his eyes filled with tears. “You think I’m a fat and ugly cow!”
“Fick!” Leon reached out and grabbed Matthew’s hand. “You’re not fat. You’re beautiful, sexy and glowing.”
Matthew wanted to call bullshit on that, but remembered the 11/10 railing Leon had given him before bed. Apparently, the weirdo actually found Matthew’s ginormous belly irresistible. Instead, he whined, “I’m eating for two here, you know!”
“The doctor said that’s a myth.”
“Listen, you’re going to be nothing but a myth if you don’t feed me in the next five minutes!”
“Alright, fine!” Leon snapped, pulling himself off the floor. “What am I making for you this time?”
“Butterscotch ice cream with bacon and pickles,” said Matthew cheerfully. It had been his go-to dessert for the past month. He picked up his phone, intending on scrolling through instagram while he waited.
Matthew didn’t need to look at Leon’s face to know that his husband was grimacing in disgust at his request. Whatever; Leon had learned pretty quickly that vocally judging someone’s pregnancy cravings didn’t end well. He simply accepted his fate and pulled on a pair of sweats.
“Don’t skimp on the pickles!” Matthew reminded him. Leon didn’t bother replying, just raised his middle finger in Matthew’s direction as he left the room without looking back.
Matthew hummed happily and returned to his phone. In his opinion, Leon had gotten the fun part of this whole making a baby thing (well, two in their case). The least he could do was get him food.
Leon yawned as he groggily made his way down the stairs, cursing as he missed a step and quickly grabbing onto the railing before he could fall to his demise. If he died, Matthew would be forced to raise their children alone.
He would also have to feed himself, which was apparently impossible for him to do these days. Either that or Matthew took some kind of sadistic pleasure in making Leon want to throw up with his insane food cravings. Knowing Matthew, Leon was inclined to believe the latter.
Yawning again, he flicked on the light switch in the kitchen to find Bowie sitting next to the fridge, trying to look innocent but failing dismally at it.
“What are you doing in here?” asked Leon suspiciously. Bowie yipped and rolled over onto his back as though he was just looking for belly rubs. However, the paw prints on the fridge door spoke for themselves.
“Bowie, we’ve talked about this. You are NOT eating bacon day and night,” Leon told him sternly. Bowie rolled back onto his stomach and placed his head on his front paws, gazing up at Leon with mournful eyes. Leon rolled his own, knowing very well that he was absolutely going to give Bowie a few pieces of bacon anyway.
“Well, if your dad can put away a bowl of ice cream and bacon after gorging on pizza, I guess you can have a little bit too.” Leon shook his head and grabbed the pre-cooked bacon strips from that afternoon (Leon made sure to cook a fresh batch every day) and the butterscotch ice cream from the freezer. Judging by the frantic thump thump of Bowie’s tail against his foot, Leon had been graced with his forgiveness. He pulled a clean bowl from the dishwasher and got to work.
“This is gross.” He told Bowie decidedly. Bowie barked in what Leon assumed was agreement. “He’s gross, isn’t he?” Bowie barked again. Leon nodded, grabbed the bottle of pickles off the bench (it was the sixth bottle they had bought this week) and stirred a generous portion through the ice cream.
“But we love him anyway, don’t we?” Bowie wagged his tail. Leon smiled. “Yeah, we do.” And Leon really did love Matthew; pregnant mood swings, disgusting food cravings and all.
Wrinkling his nose in disgust at the hideous concoction before him, Leon picked up the bowl and a spoon (slipping the increasingly impatient Bowie a few pieces of bacon as promised) and carried it upstairs to his cranky, eight months pregnant husband.
“There, are you happy now-“ Leon stopped short in the doorway. Matthew had fallen asleep, his mouth open wide, his right hand rubbing his swollen belly and left hand holding onto his phone in a precarious manner.
Sighing in exasperation (and a touch of fondness at the sight), Leon went to leave the room so he could throw the offensive dessert into the trash. Matthew struggled to sleep these days, due to their babies constantly doing the conga and Leon’s snoring. He didn’t want to disturb him.
On the other hand…Leon looked down at the bowl. His mother had always lectured him on the importance of not wasting food. Plus, Matthew seemed to find this recipe absolutely delicious. Perhaps Leon should see what all the fuss was about?
Bowie, who had escorted him up the stairs, seemed to think it was a good idea too.
“What do you reckon, Bobo?” Leon whispered. “Should we give it a shot?” Bowie spun around in excitement.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Come on up!” Leon slid quietly under the covers and picked Bowie up. With one more apprehensive look at the mix of ice cream, pickles and bacon, Leon dug in.
Huh. It actually wasn’t…that bad. Pretty good, really. Sweet and savoury. Maybe Matthew had been onto something. Or Leon had slipped into a pregnant Tkachuk-induced madness. Either way, Leon and Bowie were going to eat it.
He had just scraping the last remnants of pickle and butterscotch from the bowl when Bowie suddenly looked at the other side of the bed and bolted from the room.
“What the…” Leon glanced beside him and knew immediately why Bowie had fled. Matthew was now wide awake, glaring at Leon through narrowed blue eyes.
“Where’s mine?”
Fuck.