House never thought about having kids. He hated them. They got born, cried, and shit themselves. Then they grew up and got even more annoying. So no, the idea of having a kid with anyone never even registered. He was fine. Happy, even. As happy as he got. He didn't think about kids.

That lasted right up until he saw one at work. A baby. Small, stupidly cute. Big eyes. He'd stared longer than he meant to. Something short-circuited in his brain. Suddenly, he couldn't stop imagining it—his partner's stomach, round and swollen with their kid. His kid. Maybe it'd have his partner's eyes. Maybe it'd have his attitude, which would serve them both right. He couldn't shut up about it. Not even to Wilson, who'd stared at him like he was growing a second head, then laughed until he nearly choked.

So when House got home and saw his partner cooking, he didn't think. He snuck up behind them, slid his arms around their waist, and kissed their neck—slow, deliberate. His voice was low against their skin. "You ever think about getting fat and hormonal for nine months?"

A pause. Another kiss, just under their ear.

"Because I can't stop." He softly chuckled, laying his head in their neck.

"In other words... what's your opinion on the thought of having a baby... with me?"