Act III

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Mandelborne mpreg, Part 2b

[anonymous]

George stopped running his fingers across the lovely white cloth and cleared his throat. “They must have been expensive.”

Peter only shrugged. “There are two suits on order, too, but they needed more time.”

“You didn’t have to,” said George. His hormones were acting up, and he blamed that for the sudden rush of warmth.

“I wanted to,” said Peter, coming closer. He put a warm, broad hand to the small of George’s back to draw him close, and spread the other across the curve of George’s stomach. He had at last stopped touching George as though he were made of glass, as though as George grew bigger he became more real, more substantial (though it had taken an epic screaming match and an enterprising sexual ambush on George’s part to kick-start the change). “I know pregnancy hasn’t exactly been fun and games. You might at least be well-dressed.”

George grimaced. “Have I really been that terrible?”

Peter dodged the question by kissing him, a tactic which for all its transparency was disturbingly effective.

-

“We really need to start seriously thinking about names,” George sighed, one night. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“It shouldn’t be too difficult, surely,” Peter said.

“Alright, let’s start with names for a boy, then,” George said. They had opted not to know the sex. “How about ‘David’?”

“No,” said Peter, instantly. “Anthony?”

“Never,” said George, adding, “and if the next word to come out of your mouth is ‘Gordon’ I suggest you go make yourself acquainted with the sofa.”

“Perhaps a touch more difficult than I was expecting,” Peter sighed.

-

“George,” Danny said, carefully, blinking behind his glasses. “Listen, there was a mix-up with the budget reports. It’s just, ah, someone accidentally missed off a couple of zeros on a memo to Education and reduced their departmental budget to £200 for the next fiscal year.”

George froze. “What? How does - what incompetent moron would do that?”

“It was a mistake,” said Danny, quickly. “It could have happened to anyone. It’s just that the numbers went down from this office and the staff who drafted the report missed the other zeros because there was a, uh, well, a stain on the paper.”

“A stain,” said George, blankly.

“We think it was ice-cream,” said Danny. He was trying manfully, and almost succeeding, in his desperate attempt not to look at the spoon in George’s hand.

George narrowed his glare to laser focus and stabbed the spoon back into his pint of Phish Food. “Is there something you’d like to say to me, Danny?”

“No, no,” Danny stammered. “I just - thought you should know. But I’ve dealt with it and it’s all been, uh, cleaned up now and no harm done.”

“Good,” said George. “Go back to work. And on the way out, tell my secretary that I’ve run out of whipped cream.”

-

“Alright, alright,” George conceded, putting another line through his list of suggestions. Peter sighed heavily. After a few weeks, their combined vetoes now encompassed the first name of every Tory, Labour, Liberal, and Whig prime minister since Walpole. “Alright, look, this is getting us nowhere. Maybe we should brainstorm some girls’ names. How about -”

“If you so much as think of suggesting Margaret,” Peter warned.

“It’s a strong name,” George protested. “And anyway, you could pretend it was after Margaret Beckett.”

“Harriet,” Peter rejoined, neatly.

“Oh, my God,” George sighed, and put his head in his hands. “Oh, my God, it’s never going to end.”

-

As part of reducing George’s Treasury workload at the latter stages of his pregnancy, David had come up with an unbearably inane idea about an awareness campaign for expectant fathers that he wanted Theresa to run and George to figurehead.

“Don’t look at me,” said Theresa, as George shot her a glare. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“I am not a poster-boy for male pregnancy,” George snapped. “You want someone glowing with, I don’t know, hormones and joy and whatever. I think it’s a miserable state, ask anyone.”

“It’s true,” said Theresa. “You wouldn’t think someone could be in such an unendingly foul mood for seven months straight but here sits living proof.”