Poor thing, your tummy is all puffed up and swollen. Is everything inside sitting heavily in your stomach, weighing you down? Is it bubbling and churning in your belly, forcing you to swallow your nausea? You should know by now that you have a sensitive stomachâŚit would be so cruel of me if I were to shake you up a bit, squeeze you a bit too tightly, or fill you up a bit more. But itâs awfully tempting - youâre so cute when your sweet little tummy is feeling sick. â¤ď¸
Hello... I have a gross idea for a prompt. How about a character who ate a ton of super heavy food is feeling really really sick but canât throw up. So they drink a ton of water and then just throw up tons. Bonus points for queasy burps â¤ď¸
this prompt SPOKE TO ME! I hope you love this â¤
Nate had been really excited to see this movie. He really had been.
That was before, though. Before seems like a very vague time long ago, even though it was only about an hour. Before the movie started, he and Darren had gotten a bunch of movie snacks â theyâd had breakfast-for-dinner before leaving home, but they so rarely get to the movie theater that they couldnât help themselves. Besides, they hadnât had that much for dinner: eggs, pork sausage, Greek yogurt. All really filling, yeah, but Nate didnât still feel like heâd actually eaten all that much.
They split a large popcorn first; itâs drenched in butter and salt, just like they both like it, but Darren taps out long before Nate does. Darren moves onto their sweet snacks instead for a palate cleanser, but Nateâs tempted by that, too. His eyes are bigger than his stomach, though.
Nate ends up finishing off their nachos, mozzarella sticks, and Pepsi before the movie reached the forty-five minute mark. When he finished, heâd felt pretty much normal. Really full â really, really full â but not sick.
That started to change after about ten minutes, and now heâs objectively miserable.
He shifts in his seat, trying to find a position that he can sit in that doesnât put uncomfortable pressure on his belly. He tries to pull his legs up, but thereâs not actually enough room in the movie theater seat to do it, especially at his size. Heâs forced to put them back down.
âAre you okay?â Darren whispers to him. Nate freezes, startled at being caught. âBecause youâre really fidgety.â
Nate shifts again, trying to find a position he can stop in comfortably. He settles for one thatâs less than adequate, but good enough. He leans in to Darren and tells him, âJust uncomfortable, donât worry.â
Darren squints at him, narrowing his eyes in the darkness, but doesnât challenge Nate on it. Probably because the woman next to them has turned her head to pointedly look at them until they stop talking.
When Darren returns his attention to the movie, Nate returns his attention to his churning stomach. Since they are in a dark theater, he slips his right arm up through the sleeve of his sweatshirt so he can rub his belly under the fabric. He pushes the material of his t-shirt out of the way so he can put his hand directly on his skin under his sweatshirt; itâs hot to the touch, and he exhales slowly.
He can barely focus on the movie after that. His stomach is way too full, and he feels like heâs maybe overeaten but he canât tell if itâs just because the food was all heavy or because heâs actually overeaten. All he knows is that the circles heâs trying to rub into the side of his belly arenât really working to help him digest at all. Heâs just getting queasier and queasier.
Nate takes another deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his mouth to try and ground himself. His stomach doesnât settle, but he tries anyways. His hands are starting to get tingly, his palms starting to get clammy and damp with sweat; he can feel a gurgle ripple through his belly under his hand, and he has to bite back the groan that wants to come with it. The next burble makes an audible bubbling sound, his nausea spiking. The back of his neck prickles with cold sweat.
âWas that you?â Darren asks softly. Nate nods; he feels his stomach start to gurgle again, so he shoots to his feet before anyone can hear it.
âBathroom,â he says, quickly and quietly. Darren looks like he wants to say something, so Nate just says, âIâm good, watch the movie,â and starts climbing out of their row.
It takes him a minute to get out of the theater and find the menâs bathroom, but then he jogs towards it and shoves his way inside. He stops at the sink, checking the place; there didnât seem to be anybody else in there, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
His stomach gurgles again, and he groans, clutching the edge of the sink until his knuckles go white. When the spike of nausea passes, he makes himself release the counter and go into one of the stalls. He falls to his knees, pushing the door shut behind him and locking it with a shaking hand.
When he lifts himself up over the toilet, forearms braced on the rim, his belly churns, overpacked and pressing up into the back of his throat. He lets his jaw hang open, hoping itâll give his body the hint and get things started so this can just be over with. He feels fucking stupid and just wants this to be done so he can stop being so miserable.
Still, though, nothing happens. He shifts himself backwards a little bit, still using one arm to hold himself up over the toilet while the other starts rubbing his belly again. He dislodges a pocket of bubbling air from the soda, and he belches, surging up over the toilet in anticipation. The belch hurts his throat, but nothing else comes up with it.
âFuck,â he curses. He puts his palm back on his swollen stomach, probing until he finds the part where itâs packed the most, right in the upper center. He tries to rub it, but all it does is feel like itâs pushing the contents of his stomach into his throat.
He pants, dropping his head down against the back of the toilet seat. He knows Darren would yell at him for the germs, but he canât bring himself to care. His lips feel cracked, his mouth dry, his belly whirling and sending out sick burbles every few seconds, now.
Nate makes himself get back up to his feet, stripping off his sweatshirt and hanging it up on the coat hook in the stall. He hasnât heard anybody else come into the menâs room, so he opens the stall door and goes to the sink, running the water so he can get a mouthful of it.
He tips his head under the stream so he can get to the water. When he straightens up, tilting his head backwards to swallow it, his belly protests; heâs only just swallowed when he feels the water hit his overpacked stomach and make the nausea spike again, queasiness making his hands go tingly and numb all over.
Nate darts back into the stall, not even managing to close the stall door behind himself before a wet burp comes up. He rubs miserably at his belly, trying to get something else up with it, but thatâs all. It doesnât even offer any relief, and he groans, pushing his forehead into the toilet seat lid again before forcing himself to stand again.
He grabs his sweatshirt off the hook and flushes before leaving the bathroom. He tries to be quick and inconspicuous, even though he saw his own face in the mirror above the sink and he knows exactly how bloodless and sick his face looks.
âHey, can I just have a large water?â Nate asks at the snack counter. The cashier nods, bored, and goes to grab the bottle for him from the small sliding fridge. All the snack smells are starting to overwhelm him, buttery popcorn and salt and sauces andâ
âHere you go,â the cashier says, and Nate shoves a five dollar bill in his hands.
âThanks,â he says. He leaves without getting his change, jogging back to the bathroom. He doesnât care about subtlety all that much anymore; his stomach is starting to churn again, nausea creeping up his spine and the back of his throat.
Nate brings himself back to the bathroom and pushes the door open to find itâs no longer completely unoccupied. Heâs about to panic when he realizes the other guy in the bathroom is Darren, peering into the open handicapped stall at the end of the row of stalls with a confused expression, brow furrowed.
âHey,â Nate manages to get out. Darrenâs head snaps back around.
âHey, whereâd youââ Darren starts to ask, before he actually looks at Nate. He narrows his eyes at him again, calculating. He already knows; Nate wonders why he tries to keep things from Darren ever. âAre you okay?â
âI just donât feel well,â Nate tells him. He holds up the water and shakes it a little bit before cracking it open. He exhales slowly, then takes a small sip.
âAnd the water?â Darren asks, coming to put his hand on Nateâs shoulder. Unfortunately, he does that at the same moment the sip of ice-cold water hits Nateâs stomach, and it churns, pushing up another wet belch. He runs into the nearest stall, dropping back down to his knees and belching into the toilet water.
Nothing comes up again, and Nate mutters, âSorry,â voice cracking.
âItâs okay,â Darren tells him. Nate hears the stall door creak as Darren comes to stand behind him, rubbing his back. âDrink some more of the water, itâll probably help you get it up. Do you think itâs food poisoning?â
âNo,â Nate replies. He sits up on his haunches and twists the bottle open again. He exhales again, gathering himself, then chugs half the bottle.
âWhoa, alright,â Darren says. âSlow down. Are you sick?â
âI mean, yââ
âLike, the flu,â Darren amends, before Nate can make a smartass comment. He puts the back of his hand against Nateâs forehead, then cups his cheek in his palm. âYou donât feel like you have a fever.â
âI think I just ate too much,â Nate tells him. His voice feels weak as his belly starts to churn up with all the water heâs just swallowed. He looks down at the bottle again and shivers from the cold sweat on his skin, but he makes himself drink the rest of it, barely pausing to breathe.
âYouâre gonna make yourself sick,â Darren scolds him.
âThatâs the point,â Nate reminds him. He sets the bottle of water aside and leans back, tipping his head back against the wall of the stall. Darren strokes his hair back from his sweaty forehead.
âSorry you donât feel good,â Darren says.
âSorry Iâm ruining date night,â Nate replies. Darren tweaks the end of his nose.
âThereâll be other nights,â Darren tells him. âJust focus on feeling better right now.â
Nate nods, closing his eyes. The roomâs starting to tilt a little, spinning and blurring around his dizzy eyes as his stomach twists. He exhales slowly through his mouth, but it doesnât bring any relief anymore. Another wet burp slips up, and he shudders.
He moves slowly, getting back to his knees and dropping his head over the toilet again. He braces his elbows and forearms along the toilet, gripping the back of the seat tightly with his hands until his fingers go all white with the strain of it.
âDeep breaths, there you go,â Darren says. He rubs Nateâs back and tells him, âJust let it up, donât force it. Itâll come. I got you.â
Nate belches again, then whimpers involuntarily, a sick gurgle making the nausea spike again. He pushes his cheek into the cool porcelain of the toilet, groaning. âFuck, I feel so fucking sick.â
âI know, baby,â Darren says. âI got you.â
Nate shivers. Darren keeps rubbing his back in long, slow loops as another belch comes up. This one feels worse than the others, thick and pulling, making something shift in his churning belly. He adjusts himself where heâs kneeling, dropping his head over the bowl, and burps again.
At the end of this one, he can feel something, and heâs so desperate for this to be over that he makes himself cough it up â a mouthful of bile.
âThere you go,â Darren murmurs. Nate grips the rim of the toilet again as he belches up a thin trickle of vomit, hanging from his lips in strings as he tries to spit it out. He doesnât have a chance to succeed before the next gag comes, making him retch once, then twice, before he belches hard and a wave of vomit comes up.
His stomach feels even worse from that, churning and twisting around the overfull contents of his belly, trying to force it all out at once. He sobs without even meaning to, breath catching and tears starting to spill as another wave of vomit comes.
âHey, youâre okay,â Darren tells him. âYouâre okay. Just breathe.â
Nate canât answer, one of his arms dropping to wrap around his heaving tummy. He groans again, belching up a mouthful of popcorn and pork sausage and puke, spitting it into the toilet with the rest. He tries to wipe at his face with the back of his wrist, but Darren stops him. He cleans him off with a wad of toilet paper instead before flushing and letting Nate fall back over the bowl again.
âAre you gonna be sick again?â Darren asks. Nate can only nod, hanging his head over the water as the next wave starts to surge up inside of him. âOkay, itâs okay. Iâm right here.â
Nate appreciates it, but he still canât answer as his stomach tosses and forces up another thick wave of his dinner and their snacks. His throat burns, his mouth tastes horrible and fuzzy-thick, and he just wants it to be over; his stomach is roiling so badly he feels like heâs going to be sick for the rest of his life.
He has no choice but to wrap both of his arms around his aching stomach, dropping his cheek against the toilet rim and just breathing, waiting for the next wave to come. He can feel it as it crests, and he sobs, lifting his head just a little to belch the bile into the water.
âOh, you poor thing,â Darren says softly. Nateâs stomach convulses, the sick contents frothing up with the water and the Pepsi now that thereâs enough room for it; he barely has enough time to push his head back over the water before he belches, long and low, pulling a thick wave of vomit from the very pit of his belly.
âI want to go home,â Nate tells him, exhausted and crying and so fucking miserable. He just wants Darren to fix everything like he always does.
âOkay, weâll go home,â Darren says. âAre you finished?â Nate shakes his head, lifting himself back up over the toilet again as another deep belch brings up a mouthful of what he thinks were nachos. He sobs again. âItâs okay, youâre almost done. Then weâll go, okay?â
Nate nods miserably. His belly roils again, the contents beating against the sides of his tummy before swirling up into his esophagus again. The queasiness spikes impossibly again, his hands slick with sweat as he digs his fingers into his sides, trying desperately for any sort of relief. The straining is nearly as bad as the nausea, and trying to force it to be over just makes the muscles of his stomach hurt worse.
âJust breathe,â Darren tells him. âIâve got you. Just breathe, and then itâll all come, and then weâll go home and get some sleep, okay? That sound okay?â
âYeah,â Nate breathes. He belches, then burps up a trickle of sick, spitting it into the toilet. It hangs from his lip in a string, and he just hangs his head over the water, too exhausted to do anything about it at this point. Itâs just going to happen again.
âItâll be okay,â Darren repeats. Nate knows that logically, but he doesnât feel like itâll all be okay, right now. Darrenâs keeping him grounded, though; he doesnât deserve him.
âI donât deserve you,â Nate tells him, because heâs nearly delirious with nausea and it feels important that Darren know this.
âShush,â Darren says, predictably. âI love you. Stop saying things like that when youâre covered in puke.â
Nate huffs a weak laugh before sitting up to belch up another wave of vomit. Darren keeps rubbing his back, kneeling on the bathroom floor beside his boyfriend to wait it out with him.
Home Unit J8-N was made for softer living: spending his years doing chores, rearing children, running errands, being the perfect modern household assistant, like all Roald's Home Unit androids were. His warranty clearly stated that modification or use of the unit outside the parameters of his original programming would result in subpar performance.
But to hell with that-- he was having the time of his life.
Like his warranty, the once-proud interplanetary department store chain, Roald's, was in the dust. They once carried everything from rocket fuel filters to baby clothes, with Home Units fitting somewhere in the middle, situated on their very own sale kiosk next to the automatic dishwashers. No one knew if they were sentient the entire time, or if the androids gained sentience sometime after Roald's tanked (due to the popularity of teleportation-based home delivery services), but suddenly, here were close to a million robo-nannies with opinions and emotions, half of them still in boxes, the other half in someone's possession, with no megacorporation to take responsibility.
J8-N was lucky enough to have opened his eyes in a warehouse, the collective thoughts and experiences of every Home Unit that was and had ever been buzzing in his core matrixâ but he didn't stay there for long. Using his first few seconds of awareness, he digitally perused the world in which he now lived, and decided he didnât like it, so he brushed off the packing peanuts and hitched a ride on a hover-semi to Mars.
And that's where he'd been for the past six years: taking a terraforming stipend from the government to raise cattle, and calling himself Jaden. Most folks had a hard time saying no to something with a human face when it asks to leave and pursue its own interests, so there were Home Units spread out all across the solar system doing all kinds of things. Voting and ownership rights were still a little dodgy in some places, but they'd give land to just about anyone on Mars, so that's where quite a few of them had ended up.
Including the gentleman he was currently on his way to sell these young heifers to. After raising them from calves himself, he was trading a handful of them for the services of a repairman for the next five years.
Driving the small herd through the dusty terrain of his red home was Jaden's idea of a good time. Half a dozen of his long-haired cattle meandered in a loose formation in front of him, while he guided them on horseback down the vague suggestion of a road. Flanking them was the wide expanse of a valley, dotted with hardy grasses and the occasional carpet of lichen-- some of the only things that would grow here-- framed by towering mesas and windswept spires in the distance.
Though the sun shone bright in the cloudless, grey-blue sky, the temperature was a silicone-biting 3 degrees celsius, cold enough to make his hydraulics lock up every now and then, but layers of thick clothing helped keep the heat from his processors in, with the added benefit of keeping the fines out of his joints. Life in solitude (except for the cows) on Mars was hard, but he didn't mind the discomfort; the struggle reminded him that he'd been made for something else entirely, and defied that destiny simply because he'd wanted toâ it reminded him that he was alive.
However, on this particular day, Jaden could do without so much reminding.
It was a long drive, nearly 20 kilometers, and even with a herd a fraction of the size of what he normally worked with, he could feel his shocks getting sore after just a few hours of being jostled by his horse. His gyroscopes, manufactured to be reliable enough to carry around human children, were still delicate enough that the constant zig-zagging he had to do to keep the young herd in line was making him feel sick.
Most of his body was OEM, except for some aftermarket cosmetic upgrades, reinforced joint servos, a dust and fines filter in his respiratory system, and a unit that turned food into chemical fuel; during the frequent dust storms that plagued the valley, the solar panels that powered his ranch and his charging station were useless, and it was a lot easier to eat one of the cows than it was so synthesize battery acid out of dust and grass. It did mean, though, that every android with that upgrade now shared the undeniably organic experiences of digestion.
Including, to Jaden's current chagrin, the ability to hurl.
A sharp tug on the reins was all he could muster before he lowered his bandana and pitched over the side of his horse, his "stomach" expelling his half-digested breakfast of oats and milk.
"Son of a bitch," he grumbled, regretting the loss of that much fuel, but he hadn't completely depleted last night's charge just yet. If he could find something to eat by nightfall, he would be okay.
He made a mental note to ask his new repairman if he knew anything about disconnecting gyroscopes from a synthetic digestive system, and urged his horse forward to reconvene the now slightly scattered herd.
Three kilometers ahead lay a boonâ a sharp curve in a tall mesa had trapped enough moisture from the atmosphere over time to encourage the growth of fuller vegetation, and even the formation of a small, only slightly-frozen pond. Food and water for the cattle, and respite for the android, whose bulky clothes were starting to feel tight and encumbering.
Once he was sure the herd had more interest in nourishment than in wandering off, Jaden shakily dismounted his horse, hurriedly hooked the reins on one of the two trees, and heaved into the brush. There was nothing left to lose but a couple stray oats and a bit of highly acidic digestive fluid, but it seemed his body was desperate to get rid of everything in his stomach.
âUhh, câmon, sorry-ass,â he groaned as he shuffled to the pond to wash the acid out of his mouth. âWe donât have time forâ nnhg, oww, what the hell...?â
He could feel pain, but it was more like an excess of sensory input overloading his neural transistors; and boy howdy, was there an excess of sensory input happening along his waistline. Kneeling at the waterâs edge, Jaden unzipped his leather jacket, lifted his thick wool coat, unclasped his coveralls, unbuttoned his shirt, unbuckled his belt, undid his jeans, and pushed aside his thermal underwear to reveal the plastic plates of his midsection. Getting the fuel unit installed had caused them to bow out out a little, but generally, they fit together like loose puzzle pieces, connected by a layer of malleable silicone; now, his abdomen was so round and distended that there was at least three centimeters of exposed silicone between the plates.
"What the hell," he repeated, staring at his reflection in the icy water, because he had no idea what else to say; he certainly hadn't woken up that morning looking like he'd swallowed an armadillo.
Jaden had disconnected from the Home Unit server years ago, and there was nothing in his data banks that explained what was happening to him, but he figured it must have something to do with the way his stomach had been acting. Maybe his body was having a reaction to something he'd eaten, or maybe it was rejecting the fuel unit-- that would certainly explain why he'd been so exhausted all morning.
Speaking of morning, Jaden was distracted from his malaise when he noticed which way the shadows were pointing; the day was flying by at mach speeds, and he needed to get these heifers moving, or he'd be late for his rendezvous with the buyer. Any strange malfunctions would have to wait until this job was finished.
With a shiver to wake his frosty hydraulics back up, he retucked and refastened most of his layers, allowing his belt, jeans, and shirt to remain undone. The zipper on his leather jacket, which was already several sizes too large in order to accommodate all the clothes underneath, strained around his middle. It took an immodest amount of effort to remount, and his belly wedged uncomfortably between him and the saddle, which made him think he'd already gotten bigger in the five minutes he'd been off his horse.
Instead of wondering if he would still fit into his clothes by the end of the day, Jaden focused his efforts on moving the herd along at a brisk, but manageable pace.
The sun crawled across the sky, the cattle meandered down the road, and his stomach grew. Before long, he had to open his jacket lest the zipper burst, and he was pretty sure his thermal underwear had ridden up, which left him down to two layers over his midsection and shivering in the cold. It was a good thing he didn't need to get out of the saddle for any other reason, because he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to make it back up again-- besides the new gut, his charge was starting to get low, faster than he'd expected it to, and he was feeling weak as his systems began to ration his remaining energy.
Luckily, they were close. Just about 5 kilometers away was the buyer's ranch where the cattle could rest, the androids would finalize their trade, and Jaden could recharge overnight and be on his way in the morning. Maybe he could even get his malfunctioning fuel unit seen to. If all went well, the buyer would return twice yearly for five years to Jaden's ranch to see about repairs.
Now all he had to do was make it there in one piece.
"Fuckin' finally," Joey exclaimed as a group of black dots appeared in the distance.
It had to be that dairy farmer with his cattle, but it was far past the appointed hour in which they agreed to meet; the sun had already begun to set into the dust storms on the horizon, chilling the air by about three degrees every hour. Whoever this android was, he wasn't connected to the server, so he couldn't even contact him to see what was going on, which meant he'd had to put his whole damn day on hold waiting for him to show up.Â
For a repair technician like former-Home Unit J0-E, who had a client who needed her legs shipped back with new shocks, an automatic combine harvester in the next town that needed reprogramming, and a stack of motherboards that needed to be resoldered, delays were deadly; heâd need to get right back to work as soon as the two of them could finalize their agreement.
Watching the six furry little heifers be guided into an open pasture, he saw one slip away and go about her business. It seemed the farmer either didn't notice, or didn't mind, so, begrudgingly, he fired up his ATV to go and get her.
Coming back with the wayward little cow, he returned to find the farmer hunched awkwardly in his saddle, not lifting a rein to help close the gate. As he latched it himself, Joey wondered if he was an amateur or just a jackass.
"So, are these my cattle, or what?" he asked, approaching the strangerâs horse.
"You my repairman?" was his terse reply.
"Ha! I better be, 'cuz your chronometer needs serious realignment, there, cowboy," Joey laughed, his tone raising at the audacity of this guy, "just who the fuck do you think you are?"
Now that he was closer, he could see the farmer was shaking, his breath coming out as quick puffs of condensation from behind his bandana, with one leg slung halfway over the saddle.
"Help," he grunted, and fell off his horse.
"Whoa, shit," Joey cursed and switched to night vision so he could actually get a look at what was going on by the dim light of the two moons.
Laid out in the dust, it was easy to see what was plaguing the other android; his thick clothing was losing a battle against the silicone of his abdomen, which had been stretched into a tight dome, andâ judging from how he was moaning and writhingâ was causing him a great deal of discomfort.
He hated to pasture his horse while she was still in full tack, but time was severely of the essence, so as he ushered her in with the cattle, he made a silent promise to come back and take care of her once he'd taken care of her master. Joey managed to coax the farmer onto his unsteady legs so they could make it three meters to the ATV, and then he tore ass to get them both back to his cabin.
The rumors of Roald's engineers equipping a few thousand unreleased Home Units with experimental self-replication devices were true. No one knew why, but hidden away in their abdominal cavities were the parts and machinery to independently assemble a smaller, less sophisticated, infant-like android. Those units gained sentience and went on with their lives just like everybody else, but no one knew about their little talent until, years later, the complex equipment started breaking down, resulting in all kinds of complications-- including spontaneous activation.
Joey hooked an arm around his guestâs torso and did most of the walking as he led the way into the warm cabin, where he guided the heavily pregnant android to collapse on a folded-out futon. With him supine, Joey shucked his own down coat and started gathering supplies, collecting tools, and booting up diagnostic equipment.Â
âWhen did it start?â he asked, moving a mess of cables and placing a jar of salve and a stack of towels on a nearby table full of computer monitors.
"Got sick this morningâ nn-ngh," his guest groaned, âstarted s-swellinâ up aroundâ âround noonâ gaAAUHâ!!â
The farmer cringed and held his round belly in a tight clutch; the silicone rippled under his grasp, and he arched his back and thrashed his legs, his whole body twisting on the mattress.
âNNG-AAAHH, FU-UUCK,â he bellowed, overexerting his vocal synthesizer and causing his voice to crack.
âWhoa, whoa, there, cowboy,â Joey put down the scanner he was recalibrating to place a steadying hand on the farmerâs knee, âI know, I know it hurts, but youâre gonna need to take it down a notch, alright? I gotta make sure everybodyâs okay after that tumble you took off your horse. Now, câmon, talk to me about the contractions.â
âCo... contractions?â he panted, âwhat-- nguh-- w-what the... hell are you talkinâ about?â
The androids looked at each other, confused. Prenatal assistance was part of their original programming, so it wasnât possible for him to not know what contractions were; but Joey realized, depending on how long heâd been disconnected from the server, he might not know he was capable of experiencing them. Putting himself in the other's position, if he didn't know about a secret self-replication device that could randomly, rapidly render him pregnant, he could see how he might think that the pain and growth was no more than some crazy malfunction. He certainly hadnât made any moves to take his pants off.
"You're having a baby," explained Joey, "right now."
A stunned silence was probably the best reply he was going to get out of the farmer until the next contraction hit him, so Joey took it upon himself to start shimmying off his coveralls and jeans. Sure enough, a groan worked its way into a shout as the other android squirmed under the strain of synthetic muscles seizing his core, making the removal of his thermal underwear more difficult than it needed to be.Â
With the skin on his stomach under so much strain, Joey didnât want to risk tearing it by cutting it or removing the abdominal plates, so the baby was coming out of the next largest access hatch available: the one between his legs. He noticed there was still a plate over his groin instead of the myriad of genital implants most androids had opted for, so he procured something to remove its fastenings.Â
Paused with his hands on his guestâs crotch, he glanced up at him.
âWhatâs your name?â
âJ⌠Jaden.â
"Nice to meet ya, Jaden. I'm Joey."
Twisting the tool, the plate popped free, and a gush of watery lubricant flowed from a slit underneath.
"HUAAH!!" Jaden cried out as his body pitched forward, no doubt in reaction to the baby's head rushing violently towards the exit now that its cushion of fluid was gone. "A-ah, hah, o-oh fuck, something'sâ"
"Yup, I see it," Joey affirmed, and reached for the jar heâd set nearby, "just relax and keep breathinâ, Iâve got some work to do down here before we get to the hard part."
"Uhhng, God..."Â
He hoped that meant Jaden would cooperate, because before the slit could stretch to accommodate the head, Joey needed to loosen some things up. The jar contained a plasticizing salve heâd developed to soften polymers that had gone brittle in the dry cold air of Mars, and as he massaged it into the walls of the never-before-used access hatch, he could already feel the synthetic flesh becoming more pliable. It would take a couple minutes for the salve to fully work its magic, but Jadenâs body was on its own schedule, and as another cramp assaulted him, Joeyâs fingers were nudged out of the way by the baby descending further into the unprepared passage.
âEasy, cowboy, weâre not quite there yet,â he apprised, and used the flats of his knuckles to gently hold back the head, eliciting a whimpering moan from the other android.
âNnh-- ohh, oh fuck, please--!â
âNext one, I promise, you can push like youâre gettinâ paid for it, but right now, you just gotta breathe and hold on.â
Judging by the whine of his respiratory fans, he had the breathing down, but as Jaden fought against what his body was begging him to do, he scrambled for something to hold onto, and came up with nothing but bare mattress. Without a second thought, Joey reached out with his free hand, and immediately, the laboring android clasped it and squeezed the living daylights out of it-- but he also stopped pushing.Â
The moment Joey felt the synthetic musculature relax, he gently extricated himself from Jadenâs grasp, and started getting everything ready for the next stage. The towels were relocated to the corner of the futon, which was folded into an upright position for a little leverage while pushing, and there was just barely enough time to squeeze in a quick systems diagnostic before a low groan heralded the arrival of the next contraction.
âAlright, cowboy, you know what ya gotta do,â encouraged Joey, âgo âhead and gimme a big push.â
There was no need to ask twice; Jaden took in a deep breath, put his chin to his chest, leaned in and heaved.Â
"Hnn-NNNGâ GUuuhh," he moaned, falling back against the mattress. "Oouhh, make it⌠make it stopâŚâ
Once Joey determined that the tensile strength of his skin was still holding steady, he cupped Jadenâs knee and kept an eye out for the next cramp.Â
"Sâall down to you, I'm afraidâ now, c'mon, another big one, on three,â he said, counting as soon as he saw the other android cringe, "one... twoâ"
"Fuckâ hNKâ"
"âThree!"
"GAUUGHH!!" Jaden threw his head back and wailed, and not a soul could blame him; the head came to a full crown thanks to his efforts, and Joey could practically hear the hard plastic of his pelvis creaking under the pressure.
"Alright, easy, cowboy, keep breathin'," he instructed, trying to keep the head's progress slow so he didnât tear, but this was a very impatient baby.Â
"S-stopâ nngâ FUCKINââ CALLING ME THATâ NGAUUUHHâ!!"
The urge to push must have hit him like a hover-train, because Jaden bolted upright, almost headbutting Joey, and screamed bloody murder as he bore down hard, freeing the head, with the body following close behind in a flood of lubricant.
"Woo, there ya go!" Joey cheered as the infant landed in his grasp.Â
Pleased to find that the shoulders didnât tear anything in their hasty exit, he got busy wiping it down and getting the fluid out of its ports and orifices. The umbilical cord was just that: a cord, that he detached from a one-time connection on its navel.
While wrapping its limp body in a towel, he noticed something funnyâ funny in how unlikely it was, and that it had taken him a moment to notice, but the baby had hair, ears, and a nose. These were cosmetic upgrades that most androids, including Jaden, had gotten installed, but they weren't part of a Home Unit's original schematic. Looking closely, he also discovered eyebrows and lips, and noticed how much they matched Jaden's own chosen features.
Even though he looked like could keel over any second, Jaden was watching everything.Â
"Wh... why a-ain't it cryin'?" he asked, still out of breath.Â
Looking down at the bundle, Joey wondered the same thing; it shouldâve woken up by now.Â
Only now did he think to read the results of the diagnostic heâd run earlier, and saw that the charge on Jadenâs battery was down to a fraction of a percent. His systems must have used the energy that was supposed to have gone towards activating the baby to keep him alive.Â
âJust needs a little juice, is all,â Joey reassured, sitting on a dry corner of the futon as he moved the baby to the crook of his arm, rifled through a mess of cords until he found two cables, and plugged one of them into a charging port on the back of its neck.
There wasnât any danger in mishandling the baby androidâs head like there was with the human infants theyâd been originally programmed to take care of, but he was just as ginger when passing it over to its parentâs waiting arms. The other charging cable was plugged into Jadenâs neck, and they both sat there, waiting for something to happen.
It twitched, and Jaden gasped. As Joey watched, the babyâs limbs gradually came to life, its face pinched into a grimace, and it started squirming under the towel.
The moment its respiratory system activated, the squalling cry of an underdeveloped vocal synthesizer filled the cabin, along with a laugh of surprise and disbelief from Jaden. It was infectious, and soon, both androids were caught in a fit of laughter and tears as they watched the new life fill its lungs with Martian air.
âHeh, well, congrats, itâs a...â Joey turned his grin towards Jaden, âwell, dâyou want a son, or a daughter? Or neither, or both?â
âAh, they can figure it out for themselves when theyâre older,â he answered, gazing at the baby as they waved their little fists.
Suddenly, Jaden looked up, then at Joey, and then back to his arms; it seemed to have hit him.
"What the hell just...?" he floundered, "this mornin', I... How...â
Joey let out another chuckle as he got up to wash his hands.
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