Title: Becoming One
Author/pseudonym: Voracity
Email address: to list or voracity@hot-shot.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: see note
Disclaimers: see notes.
Summary: I can't, just read it.

Warnings: this work is a graphic representation of an act. It could be described as a PWP but its not about sex, so I'm not sure what to call it. I can tell you, and not spoil anything, that it involves an Mpreg and inserting a body part into another man's pregnant body, but it's not about what you think. Just try it, you'll see.

Notes: This is not in any fandom, nor is it original. This is meant to be applicable to any pairing in any fandom, just pick your favorite men and put them here. Also, this is most likely, though I'm not a medical professional, extremely dangerous and SHOULD NOT be tried at home without getting some facts from your physician. I know that this is something that should not occur and is likely harmful, but I'm writing it anyway to show the other side of the act.

Becoming One. By Voracity.

I sigh as I looked down at my calm, peaceful lover. My hand ghosts over the bulge on his body, just barely allowing me to feel the life he carries within him. The life that he had fought so hard to keep, the one he had fought his family, his Church, his friends over. The one he had lost everything he had ever considered dear to him to keep. The one that had almost driven us apart, something that even now brought pain to remember; all the fights so painful, so physically hurting, as I remember what I could have lost. I place a gentle kiss over the highest part of the distended stomach before giving him one, watching as he closed his eyes.

I lift his feet up into the loops hanging from the ceiling, put up specially for this occasion, and put a pillow under his hips to support his constantly sore back. He smiles at me, giving me a nod of encouragement as I look down at his now open body. My lover flexes his hole, making it wink at me, and I laugh, giving him a delighted smile. Not even the drain the baby is putting on his body has caused him to lose his sense of humor, and I take every opportunity to appreciate it. I pick up the first bottle of lube, squeezing some out onto my fingers, and I sit before the spread cheeks to smooth the cool gel over the outside of his body so there wouldn't be any friction later. I get some more out, teasing the hole gently.

This act isn't about sex, not about the love we share. This is fully my thing, my desire to feel what he is, to know the specialness he feels at that moment, but it doesn't mean I can't relax him with some tender teasing. He needs to relax too, he still isn't sure this is the best of all ideas, and I agree with him but I can't help myself. I need to do this, to become one with him in this way. I push the wet finger inside him, being tender as I thoroughly spread the gel around inside him. I pull back for more, adding a big glop of lube into what I already put in there. He wiggles and I stop, neither of us want to break this by talking so I take my cues from his expression, his body, the thoughts running across his face. He smiles at me, relaxing, and I add a second well gelled finger, starting to gently stretch him for later.

We've been lovers now for over a year and his body still amazes me. The texture of the muscles inside his body, the control he has over how tight he squeezes. I still can't do what he does, that gradual pressure he can use while we make love. My fingers are now spreading within him, opening him farther until I pull back, taking some more gel to add into his body with my three fingers. His body goes limp, just like we discussed the first time we had done this, so many months ago. This is the first time we've done this since he got pregnant, but my lover has always been curious and adventurous - especially where our sex lives were concerned. We had tried this act before, though neither of us really liked it at the time, so we both knew what was going to happen, what needed to happen so he wouldn't be hurt. I could never hurt him. Never again, not after these last few months.

I pull my fingers from him, giving him a small smile as I pick up a second bottle of lube, the other one being empty now, and squirt some more out. I push my fingers back into him, this time there's four, and his breath catches for a second. I stop, simply watching him until he nods for me to go on. I work my fingers a little deeper into him, gradually folding my thumb up in to be with them, and I'm in. This wet, tight, hot, comforting place puts my mind back where I need it to be as I work my hand closer to where I want it. This is what my baby, our baby, feels right now where he is. At this moment, we share so much with each other, each of us taking comfort and what we need from my lover's body, each of us baring ourselves as we allow him to give us what we need. I work my hand in farther, my free hand adding more lube to my wrist as it disappears. I'm not fisting him, nothing about this is sexual, I'm loving him and our baby.

I feel the first flutter of activity and my breath stops for a second. I know I'm smiling, I can feel it stretching my cheeks, but I can see an identical one on my lover's face. I move my hand carefully deeper, going to where I found out I could be as close to our son as he is. I close my eyes as I feel the weight of the baby hit my hand, the tiny flutters of movement brushing against my palm. I laugh and cry at the same time, my emotions on overload. I'm holding my son, our son, and it's the most perfect thing in the world to me. There's a few centimeters of tissue between us, much less than there is on the outside. What felt like a wiggle before now is a full fledged movement. I can feel the outline of his head, of his rear, of his feet as they kick at my hand for disturbing him. I rest my head on top of our son, my hand rubbing slowly across his body, and I think about what he'll do, what he'll become. I know in that second that I will love him so much, much more than I ever thought was possible. I know ever parent says that, but I'm sure I will now.

I'm finally part of this pregnancy, my son is as much a part of me now as he is my lover's. Finally, all the wight of being a parent hits me, all the responsibility I hold in my hand, all the doubts I had at the beginning come back, but a hand brushes through my hair and they all leave just as quickly. I know he's there for me, but for the first time, I feel like I'm there for him. It's no longer 'my lover's pregnant'. Now it's 'we're pregnant'. I've felt my son, done something that most parents don't get to do until their children are born. My son is no longer a concept, now he's a real person, a little person who fits into the hand that's cradling his frail body. I laugh as our son turns over, beating my hand with his hands, then snuggles next to it, allowing himself to be comforted by this simplest of actions. I look up to check on my lover, my eyes and face telling him all that I now realize and feel, even though I can't verbalize it and I don't understand most of what I'm feeling yet I know he sees it there. His own face mirrors mine and I'm relieved.

I pull back out slowly, not wanting to hurt either of them, carefully reversing my earlier motions until I lose all that I had gained in that short half an hour, until I'm back inside my own body, our son being a person but no longer a physical being to me. I gently wipe off as much of the lube as I can with baby wipes, sparing little kisses over our baby's head. I release his legs, rubbing the stiffness out of them. I lay down beside him, pulling him into my arms to hold him, thinking about the massive act I had just done and all I had learned.

"We're not alone," I whispered. "And our son's beautiful." I got a small nod so squeezed him a little. "Thank you," I whisper, falling asleep safe in the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same and nothing would be as special, but that it wasn't necessary for it to be this way again.