Medication, Part 5 (Patreon)

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Summary: All his life, Tristan’s mother forced him to take a daily medication, but never really told him why. After Tristan goes off to college, he starts skipping doses, and finally realizes just what the medication is for. Monthly mpreg. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, butt expansion.

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God, this isn’t working. Tristan started to get up, but groaned, and sunk back down. He pushed and pushed till his face was red and he felt on the brink of collapse. The baby was hardly moving. He wanted to return to his bed, but was afraid of getting up. He didn’t want to hurt himself, or the baby. He had no idea what the hell he was doing.

“Nnngghhh…” He whimpered out, as the baby shifted down another inch.

The position wasn’t working. He tried to spread himself wider. Tried to shift into a position that was more comfortable, but it was painfully awkward there knelt on the hard floor. What if the baby came and he didn’t catch it? It seemed like such a ridiculous concern but he was acutely worried.

He reached out to feel if the baby was crowning—it wasn’t, but he could feel the head just inside his opening. He slowly climbed up, his limbs trembling. It felt awkwardly painful, and he hunched, clutching at his painfully low belly.

“Sorry, sorry…” he groaned, praying that he wasn’t doing something wrong. He moved, in sort of a crab walk, towards the desk. He clutched at it as he felt another contraction, and pushed with it, sweat pouring down his face.

He had to get down. He couldn’t be standing right now. But rather than getting back onto the hard floor, he made his way slowly to the bathroom. He hastily turned on the tap, and climbed in when the water had barely risen a few inches. He painstakingly eased himself down as the water gradually rose, a lukewarm temperature that helped cool his overheated body.

As uncomfortabe as it was to be leaning on his back, he felt like he had more control laying supine, even though he’d heard it wasn’t necessarily the best for delivery.

His breathed in erratic pants as he struggled to catch his breath. He arched and grunted out with the continuing contractions. Soon the water was ascending up his sides, the face of his belly crowing out of the surface. Water began to spill over onto the floor, but he hardly cared. He groaned and contorted his legs awkwardly, allowing one of them to hang over the edge of the tub.

He pushed hard with the next contraction, his throat releasing a croaking noise as the baby shoved down at least an inch. He held his face in his hands and sobbed against his palms for a moment, before finding the strength to reach down and examine himself around the burning of his body being stretched. The head was finally crowning. He felt relieved, but tried to take things slow, because it hurt, god it hurt.

“Mmmmmghhh…” His belly heaved up as he pushed again, slowly and carefully, even though he wanted this whole thing to be over with. He continued to cradle the head with his hand, feeling it bulge harder out of his body. When the contraction ended, he tried to catch his breath. He was almost done. It was almost over.

“Nrrggghhh!” The head pushed free. He tried to navigate the shoulders, pushing with the contraction that had overlapped the last one. The shoulders escaped, the water darkening with his fluids as he felt the sleek body of his infant against his fingers. He lifted it fearfully. Surely he had messed up somehow. He raised the baby to his chest.

It began to cry.

It was healthy. Tristan did a hasty, desperate examination, and everything seemed to be fine. He clutched the infant to him, the hoarse wails melodious after his solitary ordeal.

Not alone. They were together. He cried with the infant, but mainly just tried not to pass out.

It took an hour to get up, by which point the baby had settled down, but the water had cooled, which couldn’t be good for either of them. He climbed up gingerly, feeling so fatigued, the world blurred somewhat. He moved hastily to the small nest on the floor—a crude thing he had created in the absence of a proper bassinet. It was a pile of sheets nested and indented in a way so to ensure that the baby didn’t roll out of it. It was better than allowing the baby to sleep on the bed with him, or so he had heard.

Tristan sat on the floor for a moment to cut the umbilical cord with shaking hands. He could feel his softened belly contracting. That would be the—the placenta. His nipples were swollen and dripping, but he didn’t think he was up to nursing. Thankfully, the baby was fast asleep.

He dozed there for a moment, before his stomach contracted again, roughly enough to jerk him awake. Content with the knowledge that the baby was alright, he crawled over to his bed, and climbed up, his vision continuing to blur in and out. He reclined, and groaned, and held his belly, pushing with the light contractions. Something slid out of him. He didn’t even bother himself with cleaning up. Instead he allowed his body to relax fully and he immediately fell asleep.

-

Tristan awoke to a baby’s crying.

That was right. He’d had the baby.

He opened his eyes and blinked around the darkened dormitory. He got up and went over to the baby before someone could come around and demand an explanation for all the noise.

“Hush, hush,” he murmured, holding the baby to his bare chest. Only belatedly, he registered that he’d had a boy. He returned to his bed with the infant, leaning back on some pillows. He guided the baby to his nipple and began to nurse.

The semester ended a few days later, and packing to leave proved a hasty, but still exhausting, process. He had hardly recovered from the birth and had the added burden of taking care of a newborn, including changing, soothing, and middle-of-the-night feedings. He felt on the brink of collapse.

Tristan didn’t know how he had gotten so abruptly thin, but supposed he wasn’t taking care of himself much, except for the odd bowl of cereal or cup of tap water. The baby was doing well. That was all that mattered. Before he knew it, he was on the doorstep of his childhood home, duffle bag at his feet, clothes hanging off his shoulders, and baby cradled against his chest.

When his mother answered the door, her grin of welcome quickly faded, and she stood there for a moment with a look of surprise as she slowly registered what had occurred. “Why didn’t you call me?” she croaked, guiding him inside.

“Mum, I—”

“I knew we should have taken you out of school. It’s too much stress. How could you possibly be expected to—”

“Mum, it’s fine. I passed all my classes. This—it’s never going to happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time,” she responded, sobbing by then. She extended her arms and Tristan obliged in handing her the baby.

“I named him Andrew,” he said. “He’s…a few days old.”

“He’s gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” he said, biting his bottom lip. “Mum, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She hugged him, the baby cradled between them. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This has nothing to do with you. All that really matters is that I’m healthy, and so is—so is the baby. In fact, I’m—okay with the way things turned out.” He wouldn’t take it back, at least. Not Andrew. “Where’s—?”

“She’s in her crib.”

“Right.” He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek, before walking off to the nursery. Erica was staring up at him from her playpen as she sucked on a bottle. She squirmed, and reached out to him in recognition.

“Hey girlie,” he said as he lifted her. He couldn’t believe how big she was getting. He remembered how much he had yearned for her when he had gone back to college two weeks after giving birth. He remembered how he had made a trip home on every weekend and day off from classes just to hold her, and nurse her, and feel like he was a part of her life. It had been hard.

“We should take you to the doctors.” His mother appeared in the doorframe, continuing to fret. “You look—”

“I’m fine,” Tristan insisted, even though he was drained, malnourished, and still very sore. “Just need some rest.”

He continued to hold Erica despite himself, allowing her to gurgle, prod, and murmur at him as he stroked her back as he had when she was a newborn.

“It’s fine,” he repeated absently, not sure how he had become so good at lying. He could feel his mother still looking at him in concern. “I’ll be on top of things. I mean it this time. This won’t happen again.”

-

Some would consider him lucky. He could have a child, precisely, whenever he wanted to. He didn’t exactly have a need for the ability, being a single young man and all, but still, it was—it was something.

As time passed, Tristan felt too guilty for relationships. Being an attractive, bisexual young man, he had a wealth of options, but he spent too much time feeling inadequate as a father to even think about bringing a new party into his life.

Tristan didn’t go out anymore, or socialize, either. Instead he concentrated on his studies, and he took his medication religiously. He came to resent college and dorm life. Thankfully for Tristan, it was almost over.

Tristan’s senior year ended with an excursion in a tropical rainforest in the south. An elusive tribe was suffering a fatal epidemic of a rare disease, so teams of physicians and explorers were periodically leaving vital medication on the border of the tribe’s territory, and thankfully, they were being received. Tristan and two of his classmates had enrolled in an expedition to fulfill independent study credits they needed to graduate. Tristan had always found the Biomedical field to be fascinating, but nowhere in his studies had he discovered an answer to his own medical anomaly.

After two weeks in the forest, the group successfully left the five large canisters of medication on the outskirts of the tribe territory. To Tristan’s disappointment, he didn’t get even a glimpse of the tribespeople or their domestic structures, though he knew it was for the best. The less contact the better, and to defy that would be selfish.

That evening, the group of eight doctors, explorers, and students sat around the camp late into the night, chattering in celebration. They laughed and bonded as they hadn’t earlier on the excursion, when they were focused on the delicate task of discovering the site without intruding upon the natives.

Tristan felt his guard sink slightly. He allowed a smile, and even began to talk to one of his classmates, Fiona, about a strange plant they had stumbled upon earlier in the day.

She grumbled about John, their group leader, who had forbidden them from picking any of the plants, beautiful though some of them were.

Tristan was just glad the semester was over. In another two weeks, he would be a college graduate, and could finally move on with his life without feeling as though he was stuck at school and away from his family.

They chattered late into the night, by which point they could feel the eyes of dozens of creatures on them, now pleasant rather than eerie. They laughed and drew closer to take refuge in the firelight, conversation renewed by the close proximity.

Tristan was one of the last people to drag himself to his tent. He quickly fell asleep, feeling better than he had in a long time.

-

Tristan was fastidiously diligent with his medication. He was committed to his future goals, and joining the expedition was a huge step for him. In the past, his condition had held him back from agreeing to events of more than a few hours, for fear that it would distract him from his medication somehow. He was proud to have finally gotten this far, and comfortable with himself.

When he awoke the next morning to realize that had left his backpack by the fire pit, he was gripped by panic. He climbed out of his tent and frantically looked around the campsite, but there was no sign of his backpack.

“What’s wrong?” Fiona yawned as she took notice of Tristan’s terrified expression.

“My pack,” he managed.

“Oh, geez, did you leave it out?” she sympathized. “A monkey might have grabbed it. You know how they are.”

Tristan continued to furiously search, overturning rocks and rummaging around the foliage, even digging through some dirt and poking around the remains of the previous night’s firewood, but it was no use.

His backpack was gone.

And so was his medication.

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