Malcolm, Part 10

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Summary: Malcolm has a unique ability. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, stuffing, weight gain, butt expansion, pregnancy.

This story is a work of fiction. As specified throughout the story, all characters featured in this work are 18 years of age or older.

Previous Chapter

-

“I lost my sports scholarship and I ended up having to drop out of college—well, it’s just a break. I’m gonna go back.” Simon was clearly uncomfortable. “My parents disowned me but I’ve been doing my best to get by. It’s not like anyone’s racing to hire someone who’s...” he trailed off. “Yeah. It’s been hard. I honestly just want this whole nightmare to be over, but I don’t have a good relationship with the…the other father. So I’ve just been saving up to get induced.”

Simon fell silent, not meeting anyone’s eyes. He looked down with clear self-resentment. Or maybe it was a look of frustration, more so directed to the huge orb attached to his slim frame. He might have been the most pregnant person Christian had ever seen, and that was saying something, since Christian worked in a hospital.

Christian wondered if the kid was carrying multiples. He didn’t dare ask. That would be rude. Christian looked down at his own curve, grateful that he was still in the early stages. He still had time to sort through his feelings before his condition became public.

“How much more money do you need?” someone asked, throwing an odd look at Simon’s belly. Honestly, he had to be overdue or something.

Simon inhaled deeply. “I…actually thought I had enough. I went to the hospital with the cash—god, that was uncomfortable. Everyone was staring at me. I go to the counter, and they have me waiting an hour before I someone in billing comes and tells me that my insurance was canceled. I guess that comes with being disowned. So the cost is going to be fucking triple—sorry,” he quickly apologized for cursing. “But yeah, they turned me away.”

“Can they even do that?” someone asked in disbelief.

Christian sighed.

“Apparently,” Simon muttered. “I mean, if you have a medical emergency, they have to help you. But evidently being the size of a blimp isn’t considered emergent.”

“The healthcare system…has its issues,” Christian admitted. “With male pregnancy being such a new thing, we’re still trying to catch up. I’m — a doctor,” he added for context as other group members looked curiously at him.

Simon nodded grimly. “Yeah,” he huffed. “That’s that, I guess.”

“There is a new government financial aid program you can try,” Oliver mentioned. “I have a few application forms if you want to fill one out.”

“How long does that take?” said Simon.

“About…eight to twelve weeks.”

Simon shot him an incredulous look.

“Er… I suppose you should have applied sooner,” said Oliver awkwardly. “Better late than never?”

“I’m screwed,” said Simon, putting his hand against his face, then slowly dragging it down. “I mean, I haven’t given up. I’ve been trying to find someone…compatible.” His cheeks went pink. “Really trying. But it’s just. Not. Happening.”

Christian had done his research. He knew that for a pregnant man to get induced, they needed to be the receiver in sexual intercourse either with the father, or with a man with a compatible genetic marker. There were seven genetic markers in total. Some were fairly common, while a few were exceedingly rare. Hospitals with male pregnancy programs were actually able to develop synthetic markers, which allowed them to induce pregnant men without the need of a donor.

The silence was long and heavy, and spoke to the hopelessness of Simon’s situation.

“Well, I’ll give you a copy of the application in case you change your mind,” said Oliver, unhelpfully. “It’s a little dense…twelve pages. But it’s worth a shot.”

Simon drew a long, deep breath. “Sure,” he said wearily. “I’m kind of buried in paperwork right now, but I’ll add it to the stack. I have to do a bunch of forms for the adoption process, and I have a meeting with the social worker Monday...” He looked terribly fatigued. He scratched his chest, but then paused, looking down at himself. Staring.

There was another uncomfortable pause.

“It looks like someone’s getting ready to feed their baby,” said a woman with forced cheer in her voice.

“Oh my god,” Simon breathed, staring in horror at the two damp spots that had formed on the chest of his shirt. “Oh my god!” He cupped his chest, as though he couldn’t believe what was happening. Didn’t think it could be real.

Christian looked down, feeling awful. This kid was in way over his head.

“It’s okay Simon, it’s completely natural,” Oliver attempted to comfort.

“Chaos,” someone whispered to Christian’s left.

Christian turned to look at the man sitting beside him.

The guy was a cute blonde, with kind of a twink aesthetic. He was wearing a polo shirt and an apron that said Brain FrEEz on the top right of it. It seemed like he had come here straight from work at some sort of…food establishment? The oddest thing about the guy was that he was smiling so brightly. It was a full-teethed grin, in sharp contrast to the somber tone of things.

Christian was about to ask him what he meant, when Oliver called out (seeming keen to change the subject), “Drew, did you want to share? We haven’t heard from you in a while. How are things going?”

The blonde guy—Drew—did not back down, even despite soccer-boy’s ongoing freak-out. “I’m doing great, actually,” he said, running his hands through his fringe. He seemed all supple and happy with his shiny blonde hair, his pink cheeks, and his round belly. “It’s been wonderful. I have to admit, I’m insatiable. I just love the feel of being pregnant. I can’t control myself. I guess I’m just addicted,” he said breathily. Then he arbitrarily threw a glance at a janitor, who was sweeping in the back of the room.

Drew’s was certainly an…odd perspective, but Christian actually found it refreshing. Especially with all the heaviness and gloom that everyone else was emanating. Christian stared at the man, rather bemused.

“Well, all that sounds…great,” said Oliver, puzzled. “I really have to commend your positivity.”

-

Jax with the Tats

“Check this shit out,” said Mouse, lifting his wrist to show Jax his watch.

“Are those fucking diamonds?” said Jax, snatching Mouse’s arm to study the timepiece. They had been watching some of their buddies empty a new 9mm on some trash bags across the alley. “Blugari? Where the hell do you get this?”

“That’s not all,” Mouse said in his weasley voice. He pulled a rumpled paper bag out of his jacket and handed it over. Jax looked inside and saw dozens, maybe hundreds of tiny plastic packets, each with a handful of pills inside. “Is this X? ‘the fuck?”

“Got it off the Albanian,” said Mouse.

“Fuck, man, that’s one of Vincent’s guys.”

“He ripped me off last week. I don’t know what he sold me but that shit wasn’t pure. Gave me a goddamn headache.”

Jax shook his head. “I want nothing to do with this.”

The sound of a police siren made the whole group freeze. Tony, who had been shooting, quickly tucked his gun away. Mouse was already making his way towards the back exit of the alley. As Jax ducked off in the opposite direction, he forgot to dump the bag of drugs Mouse had handed him.

It was hard to gauge which direction the sirens were coming from. But as they got louder, Jax broke into a run. He raced around the corner, and saw a bulky guy in plain clothes at the end of the block. Jax had no issue picking out cops. He quickly spun, and ran, when someone crashed hard into his side. It knocked Jax to the asphalt and the air out of his lungs.

“Hands up!” a man shouted, shoving a gun in Jax’s face as the second cop approached.

Jax struggled for a moment to suck air into his lungs, but nevertheless raised his arms. He was roughly pulled to his feet.

An hour later, Jax was sitting in holding at the local precinct. It seemed that he was the only one of his group to be arrested. Figures. He couldn’t deny that he was slower than usual. He was sick, after all.

This whole situation was fucked. He still wasn’t breathing right after that hit to his side, though admittedly, it probably had more to do with the compression vest than anything else.

Not that he planned to take it off anytime soon. Not with the way the big guy across the cell was staring at him, looking like he wanted to break Jax in half. It didn’t help that Jax was breathing so heavily, looking unwell. Decidedly because he was unwell. He honestly felt like shit.

“Hey, don’t I get a phone call?” Jax shouted, gripping onto the bars. “I need to talk to a lawyer. I didn’t do shit!” He was ignored. He hugged his waist, groaning from the tension. He felt so full, so tight. If was fucking uncomfortable. He returned to the bench, sitting down, hunching and fidgeting. His fingernails dug into his shirt, wanting to tear his body free. He didn’t know how long he sat there, taking in long breaths, but never managing to fill his lungs it seemed.

There was a clanging noise as the cell door slid open. Jax raised his head, blinking up at the uniformed officer who had appeared.

“Jack Fields?”

“It’s Jax.”

The officer just sneered at him. “Well, Jack, you’re getting booked. Come on over, cupcake.”

“I want my phone call.”

“You’ll get it,” said the officers as he roughly turned Jax around, cuffing him.

Over the next hour, Jax was searched, frisked, and jostled by various rough hands. Fortunately he was allowed to keep the “undershirt” he was wearing, as well as his boxers, while given an orange jumpsuit to pull on over them.

Before transport, Jax was shoved into the jail cafeteria and supplied a disgusting processed meal of pasta and meatballs drenched in chunky brown gravy. As nasty as the food was, Jax gobbled it down, and even went back in line for more. But after his second serving, he started to feel dizzy.

A correctional officer escorted Jax and two others to the bathroom. The officer waited by the door as the inmates went to the urinals.

Jax was gasping for breath. He took a piss, but still felt awful. He really fucking needed a little relief. The garment was positively squeezing him. Making a hasty decision, Jax wrenched the compression vest up to his chest, just for a moment of relief. His belly popped right out, and Jax was almost startled by how big it was. It seemed even fatter than before, but maybe he was imagining it. He panted and grunted, clutching it with one hand. The guy at the urinal to his right threw him an odd glance, but Jax ignored him.

“Hurry up!” The officer snapped.

Panting, Jax shoved his dick away and pulled up his pants. He grabbed hold of the compression vest and tried to pull it back down, but it wasn’t happening.

Jax tried to suck his gut in, but that did nothing. He tugged and wrenched, cursing under his breath as he struggled to pull the garment down, but the material just couldn’t seem to negotiate the sharp jut of his belly. “What the fuck,” he hissed.

“Times up!” shouted the officer, but Jax just kept struggling with the fucking vest. The two men who had been at the urinals flanking him had already left. “I said times up!” snapped the officer, now right behind Jax. He grabbed hold of Jax’s arm, roughly turning him around.

Then the officer froze, staring at Jax, open-mouthed.

Jax snatched his arm away. “Get off me,” he growled, but he didn’t meet the officer’s eyes. He could feel his face heating.

“What the fuck,” muttered the officer.

Jax’s heart was racing. Giving up on pulling the compression vest down, he hastily buttoned up his jumpsuit, but now it fit him wrong. He should have thought better; should have gone a size up. The buttons were straining, but Jax managed to close them all. The officer was still gaping at the odd swell tenting out Jax’s jumpsuit.

It had to be a whole minute before the officer finally spoke. “Let’s go,” he said, thrusting his chin towards the door.

With a scowl, Jax walked out of the bathroom. But the moment he joined the procession of convicts and officers waiting for transport, people started noticing him. One of the convicts nudged another, both of them staring at Jax while muttering. Jax stood there stiffly, pretending to be unbothered. But he could feel people scrutinizing him; see them sizing him up. There were even a few guys he recognized from the outside — friends of his friends — but they were looking at Jax with disgust. It didn’t appear that he would have allies here. Jax’s swallowed, his heart pounding so hard he could practically hear it echoing against his eardrums.

“Jack Fields?” someone called.

Jax looked up to see a corrections officer in a baseball cap looking the group over.

“Right here, Louis,” said the officer who had escorted Jax out of the bathroom. He hit Jax in the shoulder hard enough that Jax winced as he stumbled forward.

“Your public defender wants to see you. You have five minutes,” said officer Louis, shoving Jax towards a nearby room.

Once inside, Jax was led down a line of cubicles with a landline in each, all of them facing a glass wall to display one’s visitor. They stopped at the third booth. “Make it quick,” said officer Louis, motioning to it.

Jax sat down as the officer went to wait by the door. On the other side of the glass stood a woman who looked too young for how gray her hair was. She gave Jax a peculiar look as she held up her own landline, pointing emphatically at it.

Jax picked up his phone. “What?”

“Jack Fields?”

“Yeah,” said Jax gruffly.

“My name is Kim Reed. I’m the lawyer assigned to your case. I was going to advise you on a plea deal, but…mind telling me what you’ve got under your jumpsuit?”

“What?”

“What the hell is going on with your stomach?”

“I’m sick,” said Jax simply.

“Sick?” she said in bafflement. “What kind of ‘sick?’”

Jax shrugged. “Dunno. Haven’t been to the doctor.”

“Excuse my French, but what the fuck, Fields,” Reed snapped. “Are you pregnant? You should have notified someone when you were arrested!”

“I am not fucking—” Jax tempered himself, drawing a deep breath. “Are we done here?”

“We need to get you out of general population,” said Reed quickly. “You need to notify the officers right away, we can’t have you — they’ll fucking eat you alive. I can apply for an emergency medical order, but you need to notify the —”

“Shut. Up,” Jax cut her off. “Stop making shit up. I’m not a fucking freak!”

“Jack, this is serious!”

But Jax put down the phone. He had no time for dumb, hysterical bitches. It was always the same shit with them.

Officer Louis came back over. He gave Jax’s figure a long, slow onceover, only then seeming to notice it. “Is there a problem here?” he asked, raising his gaze to Jax’s eyes.

“I’m done talking to her.”

Raising his eyebrows, the officer picked up the phone. Jax could faintly hear the lawyer’s panicked voice on the line.

“He needs to be taken out of general pop. He needs to go to medical.”

“Why?” said the officer.

“Look at him. He’s—”

“I’m just out of shape!” said Jax, infuriated. He sent Reed a heated glare through the glass.

The officer’s face remained indifferent. “He says he’s fine.”

“He is not fine, he looks preg—”

“If I had a dime for every perp who demanded medical release, I would be a very wealthy man,” said the officer as he idly gave Jax’s swell another queer look. “And I’m afraid your five minutes are up. He’ll be allowed to call you again in two days from the prison.”

“Please don’t do this —”

But the officer hung up the phone, silencing Reed. Jax could still see her yammering away through the glass, pleasantly muted.

“Let’s go,” said Louis, grabbing hold of Jax’s shoulder and guiding him towards the door.

Jax threw one last look at the crazy bitch who was standing right up to the glass, trying to shout at him.

Shaking his head, he allowed himself to be ushered back out of the room.

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