Blaine’s hands run across the smooth, pale skin. He puts pressure on the shoulder blades, producing a small moan from the warm body beneath him. Pushing aside a strand of light brown hair, he kisses the soft, downy skin at the nape of the neck and rests his face there.

So warm. Smells so good.

Eventually he rolls to the side and props himself up on his elbow, allowing his massage partner to roll over too. His eyes move down the length of their body, down past the sooth brownish hair, the clear blue eyes and those full, full lips he loves to kiss so much. Down past the smooth, pale neck where the remnants of a lovebite linger, to the beautifully sculpted shoulders, white and flawless. Blaine adores those shoulders. He worships them. They're strong get subtle, graceful but not fragile.

Oh, so perfect.

His eyes explore more, smooth legs, bent at the knee with feet flat on the mattress of their huge white bed. Hands held neatly on the stomach.

The swollen stomach. With skin stretched tightly, the slim frame struggling to support it.

The swollen breasts he longs to suck, but they’re too tender. She’s too tender. She turns her pale face towards his and smiles. He reaches out a hand and takes hers in his, he leans towards the bump and places his other hand just below the navel. He begins to sing, softly, his warm voice filling the room.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word,
Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird.

And if that mockingbird don't sing,
Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring.

And if that diamond ring turn brass,
Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass.