Cash/Singer mpreg fic
Title: Feeling Lucky Today (Got The Sunshine)
Author: battie_hattie
Rating: Cash/Singer
Pairing: NC-17
POV: Third
Summary: It's a world where 1 in every 50,000 men carries a gene that allows them to get pregnant. Cash Colligan happens to be one of those men, he also happens to carry very old condoms in his wallet. ~13,000 words.
Disclaimer/Warning: Seriously not true. Also, this is mpreg that deals with abortion as an option.
Author Notes: Thanks to elucreh for reading this over, and to tanisafan for sitting with me while I wrote this, and listening to all my crazy. Title from the song “A Place In This World”. Also, I can't remember who it was, but someone was talking to me about names Cash would want for his baby, and they came up with one of the names in this story. I stole it, and I love you for putting that idea in my head (so sorry I can't remember who it was!).
Cash doesn't tell anyone before they leave for tour where they're picking him up from. He just loads all his stuff in the van, then takes a taxi to his doctor's office and tells them to pick him up on a corner, two blocks away.
The doctor tells him what he already expected. He's pregnant. Which isn't even fair, because only 1 in every 50,000 men have the equipment, so really, only 1 in every 500,000 gay men have it. And he and Alex had been having sex for like, two years. And they always used a condom. Though, OK, Cash'll be the first one to admit that sometimes, in a pinch they used one that was past the expiration date, or maybe had a little too much wear and tear on it. But it wasn't like they were using it as birth control. They were just using it because Alex's foreskin was prone to infection and Cash preferred a layer between his cock and Alex's ass.
Because clearly, it was a failing type of birth control.
He'd refused to actually listen to the proof that there was a baby in there. He'd made the doctor wear earphones. He didn't want to hear the heartbeat. He already knew what he had to do. He had a tour to go on. Plus, he was freaking nineteen years old. He was not having Singer's bastard baby.
He smokes a cigarette while he waits for the van and snubs it out when they approach. Ian, Marshall, and Singer had joined together a while back and overruled Johnson and Cash about smoking in the van.
He climbs into the passenger seat and grabs the GPS unit. He's not really sure how to search 'abortionist' in it. Or if that's even what they call it, so he tries for Planned Parenthood in the city they're heading for.
“Why the fuck are you messing with that?” Johnson asks from the driver's seat. “We've already got it set for the hotel.”
“Don't need the hotel,” Cash replies, trying to remember if parenthood is one word or two. “I have to make a stop before we get there.”
Alex leans up from the middle bench. “Aren't we like, two blocks from your doctor? Did you go to the doctor? You said you were sick, and I said you should go before we left, just to make sure.”
“Shut up, Singer,” Cash says. He really doesn't need another one of Alex's lectures right now.
“I'm just worried, you're never sick like this, unless you've been eating a lot of cheese.” Alex reaches over Marshall in the first bench for Cash's hand. Normally, Cash would reach back, and tell him he was being stupid. Instead, he does nothing, just stares at the screen, waiting for the machine to recalculate their route.
“Stop gaying out over me,” Marshall complains. He pushes his headphones off. “Cash, no puking in the van, either.”
“There.” The GPS reroutes and puts the new information on the screen.
Johnson looks over. “Why are we going to Planned Parenthood?”
“I got a bun in the oven, and I need to scramble it out before the tour starts,” Cash says simply.
Alex makes a startled sound, but other than that, the van stays quiet as Johnson pulls them onto the highway. It stays that way until their about twenty minutes outside of Vegas.
“Cash,” Sonny says, “I think Singer's in a coma.”
Cash looks back at Alex again. He's been checking in the vanity mirror every five minutes or so, and Alex hasn't actually moved. He's just sat there, same expression on his face, mouth open. Cash can't figure out what he's thinking at all.
Cash turns around. “Singer, if you're worried about it being yours, it is.”
Alex closes his mouth and looks at Cash. He blinks once and Cash can finally tell what the expression is. It's rage.
“Of course it's mine!” He sucks in a deep breath. “And you. You can't. It's not. You shouldn't. I have. You're. I.” He stops and grits his teeth.
Marshall takes off his headphones and sits up, pushing himself against the far window so he's no longer between Cash and Alex. Sonny does the same in the bench he's sharing with Alex. Ian and David keep their distance in the back.
“Singer,” Cash says.
“No. Don't even, Cash. You can't even just.” Alex's face turns red and his voice goes up an octave. “You can't just do that without talking to me. That's ours. Not yours. And you know how I feel about.” He stops and it seems like he's bracing himself. “You know how I feel about what you're planning on doing.”
“Hey, we've got shit to do, and I'm not getting fat. I'm a fucking dude, and I don't care if there's some sort of freak gene out there that lets me do girl shit, it doesn't mean that I'm actually going to fucking do it,” Cash replies.
“Johnson,” Ian hisses from the back. “That's some nice fucking highway out there. I want to go. You know, enjoy the desert. Right now.”
“Yeah,” Johnson says, flicking on the hazards and pulling into the shoulder. “That's some awesome desert.” The car stops and five people shove themselves out of the van before the doors even fully open.
Alex stares at the door like he's going to leave too. Instead, he climbs over the bench and sits on the floor by the passenger seat. “Don't. Please.” He's staring at the floor so Cash can't see his eyes.
“Alex, you know that this is the only choice.”
“It isn't!” Alex says. “It isn't and you know it! Why didn't you tell me sooner? You fucking wait and just announce it to the whole damn van without even the common decency to tell me first?”
Cash bites his lip. “OK, that was kinda douchey of me. But, look, I can't.” He pauses, looking down at Alex. He seems to be getting smaller by the minute. “We can't have a baby.”
“How come?”
“Because,” Cash starts. Yeah, there's like a million reasons. There's the band, and the tour and the fans. And the fact that he's a dude. “I don't know,” he says softly.
“Can't we at least. You know, talk about it?”
Cash doesn't want to talk about it, because he knows that if he talks to Alex about it, he'll end up having it. He's made his decision, and he doesn't want to keep it. He already knows Alex feels differently, which is why he didn't tell him about going to the doctor.
“I can take care of it by myself, if you don't want it,” Alex says just as softly.
“No, I don't want that.” He looks out to the desert where the rest of the guys are kicking rocks. “I won't do anything about it right now. Let's just. You know, think it over. And then talk.”
Alex tackles him from the side, hugging him awkwardly, and Cash can't help but think of it as a sign of things to come.
…
They have two rooms at the hotel, and it was supposed to be three in one room, and four in the other, but no one wanted to share with Alex and Cash, which is something that Cash really appreciated. Not because he really wants to have the deep heart to heart with Alex at the moment, he's just more comfortable puking his guts up the less people there are around.
Alex lingers in the doorway. “Can I get you something?”
Cash spits and flushes the toilet. “Yeah, ice.” He doesn't really need ice, but he wouldn't mind some, and it would get Alex out of the doorway.
“Sure, yeah. And Sprite. Maybe that'll help.” He looks relieved to have something to do. “Wait. OK. So. You can't have soda anymore. Or caffeine. Or smoke.”
Cash looks up at him, still not bothering to get up off the floor. “Excuse me?”
“Did you know that truck stops have books? And oddly enough, they had, um, What To Expect When You're Expecting. And I bought it. And I read it. And you have to stop drinking caffeine and smoking and stuff.”
Cash rolls his eyes, which actually makes the headache worse. “You know what else I should do? Stop having sex with you, because that clearly only leads to bad things.”
“Cash,” Alex says softly. “I'm only looking out for you and the baby. And, you know, maybe you should start eating meat again, because you're already going to have to be on so many supplements.”
“Alex,” Cash says tightly. “Could you please get me some ice. I think I'll die without it.”
“Yeah, sure,” Alex says brightly. When he leaves, Cash deadbolts the hotel room door behind him.
Cash crawls up off the floor and starts digging around his stuff for his cigarettes. They haven't decided if they're keeping the baby, at least not officially, so it's still OK for him to smoke. At least that's how he explains it to himself. Except for the pack in his coat is gone. As is the extra pack in his backpack. And the one hidden in his computer case.
There's a knock at the door. “Cash,” Alex says, “my keycard isn't working.”
“Yeah, because I fucking deadbolted that shit,” Cash says, checking his laptop bag again. “Where the fuck are all my goddamn smokes?”
“Um,” Alex says through the door. “Cash, you really, really can't smoke. That's like, number one thing you can't do. So, the one you had at the rest stop? That was your last one. I threw the rest away.”
Cash's hands stop moving. “You threw away all of my cigarettes?”
“Yes,” Alex replies.
“I want this thing out of me. I want it out right now. And I'll go through the fucking window and find some goddamn back alley abortionist with a coat hanger and I am going to get rid of it!”
“You won't!” Alex yells back. “And stop talking about it! That's not an option!”
Cash laughs spitefully. “What do you mean it's not? I'm pretty sure my body, my choice.” He's feeling a little more than his normal cruelty, fucking hormones, probably. So, he just keeps going. “And then when I shoot it out, I'll leave the mess all over your pillow.”
Cash can hear Alex slumping to the floor, and yeah, he took it way to fucking far. He unlocks the door and opens it. “Alex,” he says.
Alex is just sitting on the floor, bucket of ice between his knees, staring despondently at his hands. “Why do you hate me so much?” he asks.
“I don't,” Cash says. He thinks about sitting down next to Alex, but he doesn't. “I think we need to talk.”
“No,” Alex says softly. “You made the decision. It's yours. You're just going to.” He stops and bites down on his lip. “It doesn't matter what I want. Not to you.”
“You want the abortion taken off the table, don't you?”
Alex doesn't say anything.
“Look, I've known you long enough to know what you think about it, and I know you and I don't think the same way. It's just. Look, we have the tour, and everything's just starting for us. Don't you think this is a really fucked up time for us to be doing this?”
“I would have rather it happened another way, yes. But I'm not sorry that it happened and I don't want you to kill it.”
Cash reaches down for Alex. “Come on, let's not do this in the hallway.”
Alex slaps his hand away. “No. I can't. If you. It's.” He finally looks up at Cash. “This isn't an ultimatum, but if you've made the decision to do what it is you want to do, and you do it. I just. I don't think that I can be around you anymore. Not just what we are, but in the band too.”
Cash already knew that. It was why he waited to go to the doctor. It's probably why he put Planned Parenthood in the GPS instead of just going to it when they got there and not telling anyone. He wanted to get caught. “We're keeping it,” he says, putting his hand out again. He means it, and Alex takes his hand hesitantly, like he's testing the waters. “I want to keep it.”
They don't say much after that, but Alex comes in, flopping down on the bed closest to the door. Cash always prefers to sleep furthest away from the door, so he knows that Alex doesn't want to sleep with him. It stings, because he could really use a hug. “You want to watch TV?” Cash asks.
Alex curls around his pillow, hiding his journal from Cash's view. “No, but you can if you want. It won't bother me.”
Cash flicks the pen around in his fingers. He's never wanted to smoke so badly in his life. Seriously, it's all he can think about to the point that it's actually making him kind of sick, and not in that morning-sickness-that-comes-at-night sort of way. He needs a distraction. “Do you have any gum?”
Alex shakes his head, but doesn't look up from his notebook. It's intense, watching him fill the page. Cash knows it's not lyrics. It's about what's happening. Alex's way of dealing with it so he doesn't have to tell everyone right away. He can wait. Cash always was jealous of that, Alex's ability to work it out in his own head first, instead of shooting his mouth off. “Any hard candy?”
Alex shakes his head again and Cash grabs a couple of pieces of ice out of the bucket and chews them loudly. It helps, but only a little. He paces back and forth, trying to see what Alex is writing, but he's too hunched in on himself. “You got anything I can like chew on?”
Alex finally looks up. “What?”
“You took my fucking cigarettes. And we both know that I'm not a fucking light smoker. So, I'm having a fucking nicotine fit right now and I need something to do.” He doesn't mean to yell at Alex. Not so soon after what had happened in the hallway, but between the hormones, the throwing up, the nicotine and caffeine withdrawals, he was on the last legs of what little patience he had to start with.
Alex snaps his notebook shut and grabs a book out of his backpack, which Cash assumes is the baby book he got at the truck stop. He glances at the index and then flips around. “OK, fuck. This doesn't help me. It tells me all the things that'll happen to the baby if you do smoke, but not what to do when you can't stop!”
“Of course it fucking doesn't! Maybe if you had gotten something to help me before you threw out all of my cigarettes, like, I don't know, a book of shit to do with your hands, I'd be better fucking off.” He throws himself onto the bed and pulls at his hair.
“What about a blowjob?” Alex asks, and he sounds a little scared and desperate. “I could blow you. Or, you could blow me. Whatever, if that.”
“No,” Cash hisses. “We already decided that fucking around with you is bad for the world. Next suggestion.”
Alex pushes himself up so he can sit cross legged on the opposite bed. “Pretend you're smoking.”
“What?”
“Pretend. Like put your fingers to your mouth and breath like you were taking a puff of a cigarette.”
Cash thinks it's pretty stupid, but he does it anyway, and it kind of makes him feel a little better. A little less tense. He does it a couple of more times. “Do they have hard candy or anything in the vending machine?”
“I don't know,” Alex says. “But I can check for you.”
“Yeah.”
He's a little glad when Alex leaves again. It doesn't feel as awkward, pretending to smoke now that someone's not looking at him. He's been meaning to quit for a while, but he's never really actually wanted to. Or had a real reason. Aside from the obvious health benefits.
Before Alex comes out, he even snugs out his pretend cigarette with the toe of his shoe, and that actually does make him smile. It's probably the first time during this long, horrible day that he has.
“Here,” Alex says, tossing a stick of Werther's at him, along with some Lifesavers and a roll of mints. “That's what they had, but I can probably run to the store, if you want me to.”
Cash breaks into the Lifesavers. “No, I think that this will help.” The sugar will help, too, with the headache. He knows he hasn't eaten enough today for himself, let alone himself and the thing growing inside him. His blood sugar is probably way too low. “We should talk.”
Alex shakes his head. “I'm fine.”
“I'm not.” He puts a second candy into his mouth. “And you can't just pretend I'm not here. I'm not a phone call you can just ignore. I'm not going away.”
“Can't you just.” He sighs and looks at his notebook. “I just need time. You're not the only one in this.”
“Well, right now it kinda feels like I fucking am, OK? I just want to talk.”
“About?”
Cash leans back against the pillows. “Anything. I don't know. Today's been a really hard day, and you're all the way over there, and it's not OK.”
“You made it pretty clear that you didn't want me over there with you.”
“I don't see how,” Cash replies. “Also, if it's the sex thing, I've spent all of tonight puking my guts up, and I've had a really, really hard day. I'm just not in the mood.” He stops and laughs. “Holy fucking shit, I'm out of my damn mind. When the fuck do I ever say no to sex?”
Alex laughs too, and it makes Cash feel better. “That college chick.”
“I said yes to her, until she took off her pants.”
“Still said no.”
“She had visible herpes!” Cash defends.
Alex laughs again. “And I'm forever grateful for that. Herpes is for life, yo.”
“I would be sad if you had to use gloves to touch my cock. Or, if I had to wear condoms all the time, even when we rub one off on each other.”
Alex smiles and hops onto Cash's bed. “Or for blowjobs. Mouth herp is really gross.”
“I can't believe you never made me get tested before we started fucking.”
Alex blinks at him. “You didn't? I did. Well, OK, not right away.”
“What?”
“Remember that first time we fooled around? We just used fucking Vaseline and no condom and my shit got all infected? I had them run the whole gamut. Including the pregnancy gene. You never did that?”
Cash puts his hands up. “Clearly, I did not.”
“Cash!”
“You've met me, right? You have to tell me to do this shit. You know that.”
“I just.” Alex puts his hands in his hair. “I can't believe. You never?”
“Hi, I'm Cash. You've been inside me. I'm carrying your child, but apparently we've never been properly introduced.” He holds his hand out and Alex slaps it away.
“Oh, my god. I'm going to have two babies!” He laughs, and then sobers just as suddenly. “We're going to have a baby,” he says softly.
“Yeah.” He puts his hand on Alex's shoulder. “Welcome to my world.”
“I just. I was so. There was other things. I don't think it occurred to me that we'd have to, you know, there's going to be this tiny person that's going to be some of you and some of me and we're going to be responsible for it.”
“Pretty much. Dude, hug me.”
“Huh?”
“Right now. Hug me. I'm feeling vulnerable.”
Alex wraps his arms around Cash and they just lay like that until they fall asleep.
…
They make a rule, the first week of the tour, that Cash's health comes first. Well, they made two rules. The first was that if Cash said at any point that he wasn't feeling well, the tour was over. The baby was more important. And the second that no one, under any circumstances, was to give him a cigarette. And technically, there was a third one that said Alex monitored his caffeine intake until he was weaned off of it.
Cash kind of hates his band. He hates Johnson for smelling like delicious cigarettes all the time. And he hates all of them for being able to drink all of the Red Bull and soda that they wanted. And for not having to take dietary supplements for every freaking thing under the sun. So, he decides to make his own rule. He grabs Alex's Mountain Dew and pours it into the bushes.
“Hey!” Alex says. “I was drinking that.”
“Not any more,” Cash replies, shaking the last out of the bottle. “I'm off caffeine, and now so are you.”
“I can't! I have to play tonight!”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Dude,” Marshall says, nudging Ian. “Do we stay and watch, or should we like, bail?”
“Stay for now,” Ian says.
Cash ignores them both. “I've been reading those pregnancy blogs.”
“I read books, Cash. Not blogs. Books by doctors,” Alex stresses.
“Whatever.” Cash rolls his eyes. “Anyway, you have to stop. Everything that you can't do, I can't do. It's like, pregnancy law.”
“Dude,” Ian whispers. “Did you know Cash could read?”
“Nope,” Marshall replies.
“Not helping, douchefags,” Cash says.
“Nice,” Ian says. “You know you're pregnant, right? So we all know that Singer's had his cock in your ass.”
“Not helping,” Alex says. “Don't you two have something to do? Like, over around the van?”
“Busted,” Marshall whispers. He pulls on Ian. “Come on.”
“I'm not giving up soda,” Alex tells Cash.
“Oh, yes you are. You haven't had to give up anything. And I've had to give up like 19 million things. It's not even fair. The blogs say that the.” He doesn't want to say father, because saying Alex is the father makes him the mother. And he still has his dick. He is emphatically not the mother. “The partner should go on the same diet as the person carrying the baby. Reduces my stress or some shit.”
“I.” Alex reaches into his backpack and pulls out his book. “I haven't read that part yet. OK, I'm really behind, I just, like, I started this other book, about vegans and pregnancy and I haven't had time to read them both.”
Cash stares at him. Alex is really upset about this. “Dude.”
Alex flips through his book. “No, wait, there's like this section for the partners, and I should have read that part first, and I'm sorry, I just, I was gonna, but then we had that media thing, and I know we had down time, but I thought if I broke out a book on pregnancy that it would invite questions and fuck. OK, I can't find it. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Cash.”
“Whoa.” Cash really hadn't expected to break Alex's brain with that. Mostly, he was just fucking with him. “There's a book on vegan pregnancy?”
“Why do you think I got you to go to that clinic and get all those supplements? And why I stop at health food stores every time we stop? You said you didn't want to eat meat, and you can't have anything with lactose, so the books say to be extra careful. Plus, with the lack of caffeine, you need things that are going to boost your energy, like the orange juice.”
“Is that why you show up every morning with juice?”
“Yeah. And I talked to the guys, you're off the night shifts. And we're cutting your driving time. No more than three hours at a time. I'm serious.”
“Sure,” Cash says. And he means it. The driving has been tough on him. He sometimes feels his eyes drooping at weird times, like times when it wouldn't have affected him before.
“You should sleep with me. You know, when I'm sleeping in the van, you should try to nap. I think maybe if you lay with me, it'll help, because I know you don't like to take naps.”
“Yeah, of course. That sounds like a good plan.” Cash thinks that Alex looks kind of terrified. “I'm not going to flip the van.”
“I'm not. OK, I'm a little worried about that. I'm just more worried about you. And the.” Alex cuts himself short, and Cash appreciates that. He still doesn't like to say the word baby if it can be avoided. He's getting more comfortable with it, it's just taking a little bit more time than Alex would have liked.
“I know.” Alex looks so small and lost. Cash really just wants to make it better. “You want to touch my stomach?”
“Really?” Alex asks.
“Yeah, sure. Not much going on there yet. Pants are a little snugger, but that's about it. It's kind of firm.” He hasn't let Alex touch his stomach since they found out about it.
Alex reaches out, fingers hesitating slightly until his palm is pressed against Cash's stomach. “It's weird. Like, I know it's in there, but it feels kind of the same as before. But different.”
Cash feels kind of uncomfortable, just hanging outside, Alex pressing his palm against his stomach, but he holds still for a while. Alex just looks so enraptured by the whole experience that Cash can't ruin it. “You want to hump in the back of the van?”
Alex pulls his hand back. “What?”
“Dude, it's been like, forever since we last got off together. And I totally heard you fucking jerking it in the shower yesterday. We've got time for a quickie.” He makes a motion toward the van.
“Ian and Marshall are right there. Plus, you know the no sex in the van rule was made especially for us.”
Cash sighs. “Well, this sucks.”
Alex looks around. “There's got to be some place we can do it. Shit, you've got me all excited and now. Fuck.”
“Bathroom,” Cash says, motioning to the Mobil station across the way. “It wouldn't be the first time.”
“And do you remember what happened the last time we did that?”
Cash thinks about it. “I slipped in something that looked and smelled a lot like piss and the manager chased us out with a broom.”
“Yeah. No dice.”
…
They don't do anything about it until later, that night, before the show, in the utility closet. Cash drops to his knees and sucks Alex off and Alex offers an enthusiastic handjob in return. They stumble out of the closet, giddy and happy, and Ian hands Johnson ten bucks. Cash decides that it's better if he doesn't ask.
Cash has to throw up in the middle of the show. He tries not to let Alex see, but it's kind of hard, since Alex has been watching him like a hawk.
“Cash,” Alex says after the show. “Tour's over.”
“It's not,” Cash replies, brushing his teeth in the dingy bathroom sink. “It was just morning sickness.”
“On stage,” Alex says firmly.
“Yeah, because the show was early, and you know I always get sick between 4 and 5. I didn't today, and thought maybe it was over, but instead, it came at 5:30. It had nothing to do with the show.” He pushes the brush into his mouth and scrubs with vigor.
“I just.” Alex slumps against the wall, clearly not thinking about what's on it. “I worry so much.”
Cash spits and rinses his mouth out. “I know. You always do, but you've got to trust me to know what I can and can't do. I can do this tour. But I can't do it with you fussing over me every twelve seconds.”
“Can I touch it again?” Alex asks softly. “Just, you know, it makes me feel better.”
It takes every ounce of self control that Cash has to not roll his eyes. He really doesn't know what Alex's obsession is with touching his stomach is. But he respects that Alex only asks sometimes and not all the time, like he clearly wants to. “Yeah, go ahead.”
Alex presses his hand against Cash's stomach. “What's it like?”
“I'm bloated, I'm gassy, I throw up at least once a day, I can't do my favorite things anymore, and everyone looks at me like I'm going to break. How do you think it is?”
Alex stretches his fingers over Cash's stomach. “I would think it was kind of amazing. But, I guess, that's the difference between you and me.” He sighs and pulls his hand away. “I'm going to help the guys load the van. We should be ready to roll in about twenty.
“Yeah,” Cash says as Alex walks away. It's amazing how little Alex has to say to him to make him feel like a complete asshole.
…
The longest that Cash has ever gone without talking to Alex was two weeks, and that was mostly because Alex's family had gone skiing in Utah and cell phone reception was for shit. The longest they'd gone without talking because of a fight was fifty-two hours and twelve minutes, but at least then there had been text messages. And that was at least some form of communication, but even then, it had nearly killed Cash.
It's been fourteen hours and fifty-eight minutes since Alex left him in the bathroom. About ten hours ago, Alex had asked him if he was thirsty, but Cash didn't actually count that as talking. And some of it he had been asleep for, and some of it Alex had been asleep for, but it just was really wrong. And everyone in the van knew it.
Usually, Cash would have just forced Alex to talk to him by now. They would have yelled at each other, and then it would have been fine. But it was different. And Cash didn't know how to start. So, he climbed into the back of the van where Alex was sleeping.
“Scoot over,” Cash says. “I want to share.”
“Go away, Cash.”
“You said we should sleep together so I could get more rest. So scoot.” He pushes Alex, and Alex acquiesces. “I don't like when you don't talk to me.”
Alex yawns. “I just needed thinking time.”
“What about when the kid is born, and that shit is screaming? You gonna just take some fucking 'thinking time' then?”
Alex blinks and rolls over so that his back is facing Cash. “No.”
Cash spoons him, even though Alex tries to fight it. The back of the van isn't that big, and Cash knows Alex isn't being as rough as he could be. Before, Alex would elbow him in the chest and tell him to fuck off. Now, he just tries to wiggle away. “Singer.”
“Cash, not now.”
“Yes now. I'm sorry I was being an asshole earlier. It's sort of my default setting.”
“Do you fuckers need anything?” Johnson yells from the front. “Also, no fucking.”
“I have to piss,” Cash yells back.
“When don't you?” Marshall asks.
“Fuck off,” Cash says. “You don't have a parasite growing in your stomach, pushing on your bladder.”
Marshall makes a noise, but Alex cuts him off. “If you mention anything about my dick and his ass I will strike you dead.”
“Kill joy,” Marshall murmurs.
“Stop calling it a parasite,” Alex says to Cash. “It's not a parasite.”
“I know.” Cash just curls around him and waits for the rest stop.
…
“Hi, my precious little angel,” Alex coos at Cash's stomach for what seems like the twentieth time that day. Cash is really starting to get sick of it. He's fat, he's sore. And he's tired. They have two more days of the tour left, and then they go home and Cash can stop hiding his swelling belly. And he can rest.
“Sweet little baby, daddy loves you,” Alex says at Cash's belly, rubbing it.
“Singer, you have to stop that right now. You're pissing me the fuck off.”
“But. The books says that soon the baby's hearing will come and then if I talk to it, it'll recognize me.” He moves away from Cash and digs around in the bag for his copy of What To Expect When You're Expecting. “Let me find it.” He leans down to Cash's belly again. “Daddy's going to find it, and he'll show papa that he's right.”
Cash doesn't know why that's the thing that makes him just see red, but it is, and he can't be held responsible for what his hormones are doing. He punches Alex in the face.
Alex staggers back. “Ow.” He holds his hand up to his nose and then pulls it away. It isn't bleeding, but his eye is going to be black in a few hours. “Um. I'm sorry.” He sort of looks like he's going to cry, but he doesn't. “I'm just. I'm going to see if Johnson'll let me room with him.” He grabs his bag, but leaves the book.
…
An hour later, Cash can't stop crying. Everything makes him cry. Alex's book. The fact that one bed is made, and one is unmade. There's no one to spoon with. He dropped his fork. The noodles he got are too salty. The number one button on the remote is sticky. It's too much. He can't stop crying. And he's gone through all the tissues in the hotel room.
He pulls his hoodie over his head and leaves the hood up. He keeps his head down and sniffles on the way down to Johnson's room. He taps. “Singer, it's me.” His voice cracks on the last word.
Alex's eye has already darkened and it just breaks Cash into a new wave of sobs. “I'm sorry!” he chokes out, burying his face in Alex's shoulder. “Don't leave me!”
“Oh my god,” Johnson says from the bed. “What's wrong with him?”
“Shhh,” Alex hums soothingly. “It's OK, Cash. Come in. I'm not mad.” He pulls Cash into the room. “Let me get you some tissues.”
Cash starts to cry again. “Why are you so nice to me? I don't deserve you being nice to me. I'm so fat and no one wants me.” He slumps into Alex's shoulder again.
“Um. I have.” Johnson gets up and grabs his coat off the bed. “I want some candy, so I'm going to, you know, walk to the store. That one like two miles from here.”
Cash wails harder. “I want candy! But I'm so fat. Don't get me any candy, it'll make me fatter.”
Johnson's eyes dart around the room like he's looking for the best exit. “OK. Well.” He hugs the wall and moves quickly. “Later.”
Alex rubs Cash's arm. “I think you look amazing. Come on, you're going to make yourself sick. Lie down with me.”
“No, I don't deserve to. I hit you in the face and now your eye is all black. I'm like, abusive.”
Alex chuckles softly. “You're not.” He pulls Cash down onto the bed. “You're just stressed out.” He kisses Cash on the temple. “You just have to calm down.”
Cash starts to hiccup. “I. I.”
“Shhh,” Alex hums again. “Just lay down and let's watch a movie.”
…
The door clicks open almost two hours later and Johnson's there with two large grocery bags. He thrusts them onto the bed. “You look gorgeous,” he mumbles. “Eat all the candy you and the baby can stand.”
Cash blinks up at him from his spot on Alex's chest. “Oh, Johnson,” he says softly.
“Oh my god. Just let me get my bag so I can go and we can never speak of this again.” Johnson grabs his bag. “I'm just going to stay with Marsh and Ian.”
“You can stay in our room, or we can go back there,” Alex says.
Johnson shakes his head and grabs Alex's key. “I decided to give up my solo room privileges to give Hansel and Sonny your room.”
Cash's eyes glisten again. “Oh, Johnson.”
“No. No. No,” Johnson says firmly. “Cash, Sonny will drop your bag off, and we're just going to all go to sleep and hope that everyone takes care of everyone and everyone stops being crazy.” He grabs his bag and slams the door behind him.
“When he said everyone, he meant me, didn't he?” Cash asks.
“Butterfinger?” Alex asks, pulling one out of the bag.
“Yes, please.”
…
“Dude, did the room just get fatter?” Marshall asks when Cash and Alex come in in the morning.
“Marshall,” Alex says warningly.
“I'm just saying,” Marshall says, leaning against Ian. “I think that maybe the room got a little fatter. You know, just now.”
Cash blinks back tears. Fucking hormones. He was pretty sure that he had worked all that out last night, but apparently fits of hormonal insanity were like morning sickness. They came and went as they pleased and surprised Cash whenever he thought he had it under control. He hates being pregnant. Also, his nipples hurt, but like hell he's telling any of the guys that.
“Cash looks amazing,” Alex says tightly. “And you're going to apologize right now, Alex Marshall. Or I'll. I'll. I'll something to you and it won't be pretty. If you were half the man Cash is.”
“I am half the man Cash is!” Marshall retorts.
Alex lunges at him and Marshall leaps out of the bed. That's when the slapping starts. Ineffectual slapping, mostly at air and each other's hands. “You little bitch!” Alex says.
“Pussy,” Marshall retorts.
“Pull his hair!” Ian calls from the bed, not to either one specifically. He's just throwing it out there.
Alex makes the grab first, yanking hard on Marshall's bangs.
“Fucker!” Marshall howls, grabbing a fistful of Alex's hair, pulling until they're circling around, just holding on to the bits of hair.
“Throw a goddamn punch like a man!” Johnson yells.
“Dude, no, Singer's already got one black eye,” Cash counters.
Alex and Marshall both stop. Alex looks horrified and Marshall starts to laugh so hard that he has to sit down on the ground. “What?” Cash asks.
“You assume he'd hit me first? I was defending your honor, asshole. I could have totally punched him.” Alex balls his hands into fists.
“If you punched him like that,” Cash points out, “you'd break your thumb. Just so you know.”
Alex looks down at his hand. “Damn it. I hate you all.” He throws himself onto the empty bed and sighs. “I'm never defending you again, Cash. You can just fend for yourself.”
“It'll be OK, soon he'll be knocking us all over with his ass,” Ian says. He narrowly dodges the pillow that Alex throws at him.
“Dude, you bitches couldn't handle being pregnant,” Cash says, sitting next to Alex. Apparently, his hormones have finally decided to calm the fuck down. “Also.” He lifts his ass and rips a huge fart. “Suck that.”
“Cash!” Alex yelps, covering his mouth with his shirt. “I'm right here! And I was being nice!”
“Casualty of war,” Cash says, waving a hand in front of his face. “Damn. Shouldn't have had those tacos yesterday.”
Part Two
Author: battie_hattie
Rating: Cash/Singer
Pairing: NC-17
POV: Third
Summary: It's a world where 1 in every 50,000 men carries a gene that allows them to get pregnant. Cash Colligan happens to be one of those men, he also happens to carry very old condoms in his wallet. ~13,000 words.
Disclaimer/Warning: Seriously not true. Also, this is mpreg that deals with abortion as an option.
Author Notes: Thanks to elucreh for reading this over, and to tanisafan for sitting with me while I wrote this, and listening to all my crazy. Title from the song “A Place In This World”. Also, I can't remember who it was, but someone was talking to me about names Cash would want for his baby, and they came up with one of the names in this story. I stole it, and I love you for putting that idea in my head (so sorry I can't remember who it was!).
Cash doesn't tell anyone before they leave for tour where they're picking him up from. He just loads all his stuff in the van, then takes a taxi to his doctor's office and tells them to pick him up on a corner, two blocks away.
The doctor tells him what he already expected. He's pregnant. Which isn't even fair, because only 1 in every 50,000 men have the equipment, so really, only 1 in every 500,000 gay men have it. And he and Alex had been having sex for like, two years. And they always used a condom. Though, OK, Cash'll be the first one to admit that sometimes, in a pinch they used one that was past the expiration date, or maybe had a little too much wear and tear on it. But it wasn't like they were using it as birth control. They were just using it because Alex's foreskin was prone to infection and Cash preferred a layer between his cock and Alex's ass.
Because clearly, it was a failing type of birth control.
He'd refused to actually listen to the proof that there was a baby in there. He'd made the doctor wear earphones. He didn't want to hear the heartbeat. He already knew what he had to do. He had a tour to go on. Plus, he was freaking nineteen years old. He was not having Singer's bastard baby.
He smokes a cigarette while he waits for the van and snubs it out when they approach. Ian, Marshall, and Singer had joined together a while back and overruled Johnson and Cash about smoking in the van.
He climbs into the passenger seat and grabs the GPS unit. He's not really sure how to search 'abortionist' in it. Or if that's even what they call it, so he tries for Planned Parenthood in the city they're heading for.
“Why the fuck are you messing with that?” Johnson asks from the driver's seat. “We've already got it set for the hotel.”
“Don't need the hotel,” Cash replies, trying to remember if parenthood is one word or two. “I have to make a stop before we get there.”
Alex leans up from the middle bench. “Aren't we like, two blocks from your doctor? Did you go to the doctor? You said you were sick, and I said you should go before we left, just to make sure.”
“Shut up, Singer,” Cash says. He really doesn't need another one of Alex's lectures right now.
“I'm just worried, you're never sick like this, unless you've been eating a lot of cheese.” Alex reaches over Marshall in the first bench for Cash's hand. Normally, Cash would reach back, and tell him he was being stupid. Instead, he does nothing, just stares at the screen, waiting for the machine to recalculate their route.
“Stop gaying out over me,” Marshall complains. He pushes his headphones off. “Cash, no puking in the van, either.”
“There.” The GPS reroutes and puts the new information on the screen.
Johnson looks over. “Why are we going to Planned Parenthood?”
“I got a bun in the oven, and I need to scramble it out before the tour starts,” Cash says simply.
Alex makes a startled sound, but other than that, the van stays quiet as Johnson pulls them onto the highway. It stays that way until their about twenty minutes outside of Vegas.
“Cash,” Sonny says, “I think Singer's in a coma.”
Cash looks back at Alex again. He's been checking in the vanity mirror every five minutes or so, and Alex hasn't actually moved. He's just sat there, same expression on his face, mouth open. Cash can't figure out what he's thinking at all.
Cash turns around. “Singer, if you're worried about it being yours, it is.”
Alex closes his mouth and looks at Cash. He blinks once and Cash can finally tell what the expression is. It's rage.
“Of course it's mine!” He sucks in a deep breath. “And you. You can't. It's not. You shouldn't. I have. You're. I.” He stops and grits his teeth.
Marshall takes off his headphones and sits up, pushing himself against the far window so he's no longer between Cash and Alex. Sonny does the same in the bench he's sharing with Alex. Ian and David keep their distance in the back.
“Singer,” Cash says.
“No. Don't even, Cash. You can't even just.” Alex's face turns red and his voice goes up an octave. “You can't just do that without talking to me. That's ours. Not yours. And you know how I feel about.” He stops and it seems like he's bracing himself. “You know how I feel about what you're planning on doing.”
“Hey, we've got shit to do, and I'm not getting fat. I'm a fucking dude, and I don't care if there's some sort of freak gene out there that lets me do girl shit, it doesn't mean that I'm actually going to fucking do it,” Cash replies.
“Johnson,” Ian hisses from the back. “That's some nice fucking highway out there. I want to go. You know, enjoy the desert. Right now.”
“Yeah,” Johnson says, flicking on the hazards and pulling into the shoulder. “That's some awesome desert.” The car stops and five people shove themselves out of the van before the doors even fully open.
Alex stares at the door like he's going to leave too. Instead, he climbs over the bench and sits on the floor by the passenger seat. “Don't. Please.” He's staring at the floor so Cash can't see his eyes.
“Alex, you know that this is the only choice.”
“It isn't!” Alex says. “It isn't and you know it! Why didn't you tell me sooner? You fucking wait and just announce it to the whole damn van without even the common decency to tell me first?”
Cash bites his lip. “OK, that was kinda douchey of me. But, look, I can't.” He pauses, looking down at Alex. He seems to be getting smaller by the minute. “We can't have a baby.”
“How come?”
“Because,” Cash starts. Yeah, there's like a million reasons. There's the band, and the tour and the fans. And the fact that he's a dude. “I don't know,” he says softly.
“Can't we at least. You know, talk about it?”
Cash doesn't want to talk about it, because he knows that if he talks to Alex about it, he'll end up having it. He's made his decision, and he doesn't want to keep it. He already knows Alex feels differently, which is why he didn't tell him about going to the doctor.
“I can take care of it by myself, if you don't want it,” Alex says just as softly.
“No, I don't want that.” He looks out to the desert where the rest of the guys are kicking rocks. “I won't do anything about it right now. Let's just. You know, think it over. And then talk.”
Alex tackles him from the side, hugging him awkwardly, and Cash can't help but think of it as a sign of things to come.
…
They have two rooms at the hotel, and it was supposed to be three in one room, and four in the other, but no one wanted to share with Alex and Cash, which is something that Cash really appreciated. Not because he really wants to have the deep heart to heart with Alex at the moment, he's just more comfortable puking his guts up the less people there are around.
Alex lingers in the doorway. “Can I get you something?”
Cash spits and flushes the toilet. “Yeah, ice.” He doesn't really need ice, but he wouldn't mind some, and it would get Alex out of the doorway.
“Sure, yeah. And Sprite. Maybe that'll help.” He looks relieved to have something to do. “Wait. OK. So. You can't have soda anymore. Or caffeine. Or smoke.”
Cash looks up at him, still not bothering to get up off the floor. “Excuse me?”
“Did you know that truck stops have books? And oddly enough, they had, um, What To Expect When You're Expecting. And I bought it. And I read it. And you have to stop drinking caffeine and smoking and stuff.”
Cash rolls his eyes, which actually makes the headache worse. “You know what else I should do? Stop having sex with you, because that clearly only leads to bad things.”
“Cash,” Alex says softly. “I'm only looking out for you and the baby. And, you know, maybe you should start eating meat again, because you're already going to have to be on so many supplements.”
“Alex,” Cash says tightly. “Could you please get me some ice. I think I'll die without it.”
“Yeah, sure,” Alex says brightly. When he leaves, Cash deadbolts the hotel room door behind him.
Cash crawls up off the floor and starts digging around his stuff for his cigarettes. They haven't decided if they're keeping the baby, at least not officially, so it's still OK for him to smoke. At least that's how he explains it to himself. Except for the pack in his coat is gone. As is the extra pack in his backpack. And the one hidden in his computer case.
There's a knock at the door. “Cash,” Alex says, “my keycard isn't working.”
“Yeah, because I fucking deadbolted that shit,” Cash says, checking his laptop bag again. “Where the fuck are all my goddamn smokes?”
“Um,” Alex says through the door. “Cash, you really, really can't smoke. That's like, number one thing you can't do. So, the one you had at the rest stop? That was your last one. I threw the rest away.”
Cash's hands stop moving. “You threw away all of my cigarettes?”
“Yes,” Alex replies.
“I want this thing out of me. I want it out right now. And I'll go through the fucking window and find some goddamn back alley abortionist with a coat hanger and I am going to get rid of it!”
“You won't!” Alex yells back. “And stop talking about it! That's not an option!”
Cash laughs spitefully. “What do you mean it's not? I'm pretty sure my body, my choice.” He's feeling a little more than his normal cruelty, fucking hormones, probably. So, he just keeps going. “And then when I shoot it out, I'll leave the mess all over your pillow.”
Cash can hear Alex slumping to the floor, and yeah, he took it way to fucking far. He unlocks the door and opens it. “Alex,” he says.
Alex is just sitting on the floor, bucket of ice between his knees, staring despondently at his hands. “Why do you hate me so much?” he asks.
“I don't,” Cash says. He thinks about sitting down next to Alex, but he doesn't. “I think we need to talk.”
“No,” Alex says softly. “You made the decision. It's yours. You're just going to.” He stops and bites down on his lip. “It doesn't matter what I want. Not to you.”
“You want the abortion taken off the table, don't you?”
Alex doesn't say anything.
“Look, I've known you long enough to know what you think about it, and I know you and I don't think the same way. It's just. Look, we have the tour, and everything's just starting for us. Don't you think this is a really fucked up time for us to be doing this?”
“I would have rather it happened another way, yes. But I'm not sorry that it happened and I don't want you to kill it.”
Cash reaches down for Alex. “Come on, let's not do this in the hallway.”
Alex slaps his hand away. “No. I can't. If you. It's.” He finally looks up at Cash. “This isn't an ultimatum, but if you've made the decision to do what it is you want to do, and you do it. I just. I don't think that I can be around you anymore. Not just what we are, but in the band too.”
Cash already knew that. It was why he waited to go to the doctor. It's probably why he put Planned Parenthood in the GPS instead of just going to it when they got there and not telling anyone. He wanted to get caught. “We're keeping it,” he says, putting his hand out again. He means it, and Alex takes his hand hesitantly, like he's testing the waters. “I want to keep it.”
They don't say much after that, but Alex comes in, flopping down on the bed closest to the door. Cash always prefers to sleep furthest away from the door, so he knows that Alex doesn't want to sleep with him. It stings, because he could really use a hug. “You want to watch TV?” Cash asks.
Alex curls around his pillow, hiding his journal from Cash's view. “No, but you can if you want. It won't bother me.”
Cash flicks the pen around in his fingers. He's never wanted to smoke so badly in his life. Seriously, it's all he can think about to the point that it's actually making him kind of sick, and not in that morning-sickness-that-comes-at-night sort of way. He needs a distraction. “Do you have any gum?”
Alex shakes his head, but doesn't look up from his notebook. It's intense, watching him fill the page. Cash knows it's not lyrics. It's about what's happening. Alex's way of dealing with it so he doesn't have to tell everyone right away. He can wait. Cash always was jealous of that, Alex's ability to work it out in his own head first, instead of shooting his mouth off. “Any hard candy?”
Alex shakes his head again and Cash grabs a couple of pieces of ice out of the bucket and chews them loudly. It helps, but only a little. He paces back and forth, trying to see what Alex is writing, but he's too hunched in on himself. “You got anything I can like chew on?”
Alex finally looks up. “What?”
“You took my fucking cigarettes. And we both know that I'm not a fucking light smoker. So, I'm having a fucking nicotine fit right now and I need something to do.” He doesn't mean to yell at Alex. Not so soon after what had happened in the hallway, but between the hormones, the throwing up, the nicotine and caffeine withdrawals, he was on the last legs of what little patience he had to start with.
Alex snaps his notebook shut and grabs a book out of his backpack, which Cash assumes is the baby book he got at the truck stop. He glances at the index and then flips around. “OK, fuck. This doesn't help me. It tells me all the things that'll happen to the baby if you do smoke, but not what to do when you can't stop!”
“Of course it fucking doesn't! Maybe if you had gotten something to help me before you threw out all of my cigarettes, like, I don't know, a book of shit to do with your hands, I'd be better fucking off.” He throws himself onto the bed and pulls at his hair.
“What about a blowjob?” Alex asks, and he sounds a little scared and desperate. “I could blow you. Or, you could blow me. Whatever, if that.”
“No,” Cash hisses. “We already decided that fucking around with you is bad for the world. Next suggestion.”
Alex pushes himself up so he can sit cross legged on the opposite bed. “Pretend you're smoking.”
“What?”
“Pretend. Like put your fingers to your mouth and breath like you were taking a puff of a cigarette.”
Cash thinks it's pretty stupid, but he does it anyway, and it kind of makes him feel a little better. A little less tense. He does it a couple of more times. “Do they have hard candy or anything in the vending machine?”
“I don't know,” Alex says. “But I can check for you.”
“Yeah.”
He's a little glad when Alex leaves again. It doesn't feel as awkward, pretending to smoke now that someone's not looking at him. He's been meaning to quit for a while, but he's never really actually wanted to. Or had a real reason. Aside from the obvious health benefits.
Before Alex comes out, he even snugs out his pretend cigarette with the toe of his shoe, and that actually does make him smile. It's probably the first time during this long, horrible day that he has.
“Here,” Alex says, tossing a stick of Werther's at him, along with some Lifesavers and a roll of mints. “That's what they had, but I can probably run to the store, if you want me to.”
Cash breaks into the Lifesavers. “No, I think that this will help.” The sugar will help, too, with the headache. He knows he hasn't eaten enough today for himself, let alone himself and the thing growing inside him. His blood sugar is probably way too low. “We should talk.”
Alex shakes his head. “I'm fine.”
“I'm not.” He puts a second candy into his mouth. “And you can't just pretend I'm not here. I'm not a phone call you can just ignore. I'm not going away.”
“Can't you just.” He sighs and looks at his notebook. “I just need time. You're not the only one in this.”
“Well, right now it kinda feels like I fucking am, OK? I just want to talk.”
“About?”
Cash leans back against the pillows. “Anything. I don't know. Today's been a really hard day, and you're all the way over there, and it's not OK.”
“You made it pretty clear that you didn't want me over there with you.”
“I don't see how,” Cash replies. “Also, if it's the sex thing, I've spent all of tonight puking my guts up, and I've had a really, really hard day. I'm just not in the mood.” He stops and laughs. “Holy fucking shit, I'm out of my damn mind. When the fuck do I ever say no to sex?”
Alex laughs too, and it makes Cash feel better. “That college chick.”
“I said yes to her, until she took off her pants.”
“Still said no.”
“She had visible herpes!” Cash defends.
Alex laughs again. “And I'm forever grateful for that. Herpes is for life, yo.”
“I would be sad if you had to use gloves to touch my cock. Or, if I had to wear condoms all the time, even when we rub one off on each other.”
Alex smiles and hops onto Cash's bed. “Or for blowjobs. Mouth herp is really gross.”
“I can't believe you never made me get tested before we started fucking.”
Alex blinks at him. “You didn't? I did. Well, OK, not right away.”
“What?”
“Remember that first time we fooled around? We just used fucking Vaseline and no condom and my shit got all infected? I had them run the whole gamut. Including the pregnancy gene. You never did that?”
Cash puts his hands up. “Clearly, I did not.”
“Cash!”
“You've met me, right? You have to tell me to do this shit. You know that.”
“I just.” Alex puts his hands in his hair. “I can't believe. You never?”
“Hi, I'm Cash. You've been inside me. I'm carrying your child, but apparently we've never been properly introduced.” He holds his hand out and Alex slaps it away.
“Oh, my god. I'm going to have two babies!” He laughs, and then sobers just as suddenly. “We're going to have a baby,” he says softly.
“Yeah.” He puts his hand on Alex's shoulder. “Welcome to my world.”
“I just. I was so. There was other things. I don't think it occurred to me that we'd have to, you know, there's going to be this tiny person that's going to be some of you and some of me and we're going to be responsible for it.”
“Pretty much. Dude, hug me.”
“Huh?”
“Right now. Hug me. I'm feeling vulnerable.”
Alex wraps his arms around Cash and they just lay like that until they fall asleep.
…
They make a rule, the first week of the tour, that Cash's health comes first. Well, they made two rules. The first was that if Cash said at any point that he wasn't feeling well, the tour was over. The baby was more important. And the second that no one, under any circumstances, was to give him a cigarette. And technically, there was a third one that said Alex monitored his caffeine intake until he was weaned off of it.
Cash kind of hates his band. He hates Johnson for smelling like delicious cigarettes all the time. And he hates all of them for being able to drink all of the Red Bull and soda that they wanted. And for not having to take dietary supplements for every freaking thing under the sun. So, he decides to make his own rule. He grabs Alex's Mountain Dew and pours it into the bushes.
“Hey!” Alex says. “I was drinking that.”
“Not any more,” Cash replies, shaking the last out of the bottle. “I'm off caffeine, and now so are you.”
“I can't! I have to play tonight!”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Dude,” Marshall says, nudging Ian. “Do we stay and watch, or should we like, bail?”
“Stay for now,” Ian says.
Cash ignores them both. “I've been reading those pregnancy blogs.”
“I read books, Cash. Not blogs. Books by doctors,” Alex stresses.
“Whatever.” Cash rolls his eyes. “Anyway, you have to stop. Everything that you can't do, I can't do. It's like, pregnancy law.”
“Dude,” Ian whispers. “Did you know Cash could read?”
“Nope,” Marshall replies.
“Not helping, douchefags,” Cash says.
“Nice,” Ian says. “You know you're pregnant, right? So we all know that Singer's had his cock in your ass.”
“Not helping,” Alex says. “Don't you two have something to do? Like, over around the van?”
“Busted,” Marshall whispers. He pulls on Ian. “Come on.”
“I'm not giving up soda,” Alex tells Cash.
“Oh, yes you are. You haven't had to give up anything. And I've had to give up like 19 million things. It's not even fair. The blogs say that the.” He doesn't want to say father, because saying Alex is the father makes him the mother. And he still has his dick. He is emphatically not the mother. “The partner should go on the same diet as the person carrying the baby. Reduces my stress or some shit.”
“I.” Alex reaches into his backpack and pulls out his book. “I haven't read that part yet. OK, I'm really behind, I just, like, I started this other book, about vegans and pregnancy and I haven't had time to read them both.”
Cash stares at him. Alex is really upset about this. “Dude.”
Alex flips through his book. “No, wait, there's like this section for the partners, and I should have read that part first, and I'm sorry, I just, I was gonna, but then we had that media thing, and I know we had down time, but I thought if I broke out a book on pregnancy that it would invite questions and fuck. OK, I can't find it. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Cash.”
“Whoa.” Cash really hadn't expected to break Alex's brain with that. Mostly, he was just fucking with him. “There's a book on vegan pregnancy?”
“Why do you think I got you to go to that clinic and get all those supplements? And why I stop at health food stores every time we stop? You said you didn't want to eat meat, and you can't have anything with lactose, so the books say to be extra careful. Plus, with the lack of caffeine, you need things that are going to boost your energy, like the orange juice.”
“Is that why you show up every morning with juice?”
“Yeah. And I talked to the guys, you're off the night shifts. And we're cutting your driving time. No more than three hours at a time. I'm serious.”
“Sure,” Cash says. And he means it. The driving has been tough on him. He sometimes feels his eyes drooping at weird times, like times when it wouldn't have affected him before.
“You should sleep with me. You know, when I'm sleeping in the van, you should try to nap. I think maybe if you lay with me, it'll help, because I know you don't like to take naps.”
“Yeah, of course. That sounds like a good plan.” Cash thinks that Alex looks kind of terrified. “I'm not going to flip the van.”
“I'm not. OK, I'm a little worried about that. I'm just more worried about you. And the.” Alex cuts himself short, and Cash appreciates that. He still doesn't like to say the word baby if it can be avoided. He's getting more comfortable with it, it's just taking a little bit more time than Alex would have liked.
“I know.” Alex looks so small and lost. Cash really just wants to make it better. “You want to touch my stomach?”
“Really?” Alex asks.
“Yeah, sure. Not much going on there yet. Pants are a little snugger, but that's about it. It's kind of firm.” He hasn't let Alex touch his stomach since they found out about it.
Alex reaches out, fingers hesitating slightly until his palm is pressed against Cash's stomach. “It's weird. Like, I know it's in there, but it feels kind of the same as before. But different.”
Cash feels kind of uncomfortable, just hanging outside, Alex pressing his palm against his stomach, but he holds still for a while. Alex just looks so enraptured by the whole experience that Cash can't ruin it. “You want to hump in the back of the van?”
Alex pulls his hand back. “What?”
“Dude, it's been like, forever since we last got off together. And I totally heard you fucking jerking it in the shower yesterday. We've got time for a quickie.” He makes a motion toward the van.
“Ian and Marshall are right there. Plus, you know the no sex in the van rule was made especially for us.”
Cash sighs. “Well, this sucks.”
Alex looks around. “There's got to be some place we can do it. Shit, you've got me all excited and now. Fuck.”
“Bathroom,” Cash says, motioning to the Mobil station across the way. “It wouldn't be the first time.”
“And do you remember what happened the last time we did that?”
Cash thinks about it. “I slipped in something that looked and smelled a lot like piss and the manager chased us out with a broom.”
“Yeah. No dice.”
…
They don't do anything about it until later, that night, before the show, in the utility closet. Cash drops to his knees and sucks Alex off and Alex offers an enthusiastic handjob in return. They stumble out of the closet, giddy and happy, and Ian hands Johnson ten bucks. Cash decides that it's better if he doesn't ask.
Cash has to throw up in the middle of the show. He tries not to let Alex see, but it's kind of hard, since Alex has been watching him like a hawk.
“Cash,” Alex says after the show. “Tour's over.”
“It's not,” Cash replies, brushing his teeth in the dingy bathroom sink. “It was just morning sickness.”
“On stage,” Alex says firmly.
“Yeah, because the show was early, and you know I always get sick between 4 and 5. I didn't today, and thought maybe it was over, but instead, it came at 5:30. It had nothing to do with the show.” He pushes the brush into his mouth and scrubs with vigor.
“I just.” Alex slumps against the wall, clearly not thinking about what's on it. “I worry so much.”
Cash spits and rinses his mouth out. “I know. You always do, but you've got to trust me to know what I can and can't do. I can do this tour. But I can't do it with you fussing over me every twelve seconds.”
“Can I touch it again?” Alex asks softly. “Just, you know, it makes me feel better.”
It takes every ounce of self control that Cash has to not roll his eyes. He really doesn't know what Alex's obsession is with touching his stomach is. But he respects that Alex only asks sometimes and not all the time, like he clearly wants to. “Yeah, go ahead.”
Alex presses his hand against Cash's stomach. “What's it like?”
“I'm bloated, I'm gassy, I throw up at least once a day, I can't do my favorite things anymore, and everyone looks at me like I'm going to break. How do you think it is?”
Alex stretches his fingers over Cash's stomach. “I would think it was kind of amazing. But, I guess, that's the difference between you and me.” He sighs and pulls his hand away. “I'm going to help the guys load the van. We should be ready to roll in about twenty.
“Yeah,” Cash says as Alex walks away. It's amazing how little Alex has to say to him to make him feel like a complete asshole.
…
The longest that Cash has ever gone without talking to Alex was two weeks, and that was mostly because Alex's family had gone skiing in Utah and cell phone reception was for shit. The longest they'd gone without talking because of a fight was fifty-two hours and twelve minutes, but at least then there had been text messages. And that was at least some form of communication, but even then, it had nearly killed Cash.
It's been fourteen hours and fifty-eight minutes since Alex left him in the bathroom. About ten hours ago, Alex had asked him if he was thirsty, but Cash didn't actually count that as talking. And some of it he had been asleep for, and some of it Alex had been asleep for, but it just was really wrong. And everyone in the van knew it.
Usually, Cash would have just forced Alex to talk to him by now. They would have yelled at each other, and then it would have been fine. But it was different. And Cash didn't know how to start. So, he climbed into the back of the van where Alex was sleeping.
“Scoot over,” Cash says. “I want to share.”
“Go away, Cash.”
“You said we should sleep together so I could get more rest. So scoot.” He pushes Alex, and Alex acquiesces. “I don't like when you don't talk to me.”
Alex yawns. “I just needed thinking time.”
“What about when the kid is born, and that shit is screaming? You gonna just take some fucking 'thinking time' then?”
Alex blinks and rolls over so that his back is facing Cash. “No.”
Cash spoons him, even though Alex tries to fight it. The back of the van isn't that big, and Cash knows Alex isn't being as rough as he could be. Before, Alex would elbow him in the chest and tell him to fuck off. Now, he just tries to wiggle away. “Singer.”
“Cash, not now.”
“Yes now. I'm sorry I was being an asshole earlier. It's sort of my default setting.”
“Do you fuckers need anything?” Johnson yells from the front. “Also, no fucking.”
“I have to piss,” Cash yells back.
“When don't you?” Marshall asks.
“Fuck off,” Cash says. “You don't have a parasite growing in your stomach, pushing on your bladder.”
Marshall makes a noise, but Alex cuts him off. “If you mention anything about my dick and his ass I will strike you dead.”
“Kill joy,” Marshall murmurs.
“Stop calling it a parasite,” Alex says to Cash. “It's not a parasite.”
“I know.” Cash just curls around him and waits for the rest stop.
…
“Hi, my precious little angel,” Alex coos at Cash's stomach for what seems like the twentieth time that day. Cash is really starting to get sick of it. He's fat, he's sore. And he's tired. They have two more days of the tour left, and then they go home and Cash can stop hiding his swelling belly. And he can rest.
“Sweet little baby, daddy loves you,” Alex says at Cash's belly, rubbing it.
“Singer, you have to stop that right now. You're pissing me the fuck off.”
“But. The books says that soon the baby's hearing will come and then if I talk to it, it'll recognize me.” He moves away from Cash and digs around in the bag for his copy of What To Expect When You're Expecting. “Let me find it.” He leans down to Cash's belly again. “Daddy's going to find it, and he'll show papa that he's right.”
Cash doesn't know why that's the thing that makes him just see red, but it is, and he can't be held responsible for what his hormones are doing. He punches Alex in the face.
Alex staggers back. “Ow.” He holds his hand up to his nose and then pulls it away. It isn't bleeding, but his eye is going to be black in a few hours. “Um. I'm sorry.” He sort of looks like he's going to cry, but he doesn't. “I'm just. I'm going to see if Johnson'll let me room with him.” He grabs his bag, but leaves the book.
…
An hour later, Cash can't stop crying. Everything makes him cry. Alex's book. The fact that one bed is made, and one is unmade. There's no one to spoon with. He dropped his fork. The noodles he got are too salty. The number one button on the remote is sticky. It's too much. He can't stop crying. And he's gone through all the tissues in the hotel room.
He pulls his hoodie over his head and leaves the hood up. He keeps his head down and sniffles on the way down to Johnson's room. He taps. “Singer, it's me.” His voice cracks on the last word.
Alex's eye has already darkened and it just breaks Cash into a new wave of sobs. “I'm sorry!” he chokes out, burying his face in Alex's shoulder. “Don't leave me!”
“Oh my god,” Johnson says from the bed. “What's wrong with him?”
“Shhh,” Alex hums soothingly. “It's OK, Cash. Come in. I'm not mad.” He pulls Cash into the room. “Let me get you some tissues.”
Cash starts to cry again. “Why are you so nice to me? I don't deserve you being nice to me. I'm so fat and no one wants me.” He slumps into Alex's shoulder again.
“Um. I have.” Johnson gets up and grabs his coat off the bed. “I want some candy, so I'm going to, you know, walk to the store. That one like two miles from here.”
Cash wails harder. “I want candy! But I'm so fat. Don't get me any candy, it'll make me fatter.”
Johnson's eyes dart around the room like he's looking for the best exit. “OK. Well.” He hugs the wall and moves quickly. “Later.”
Alex rubs Cash's arm. “I think you look amazing. Come on, you're going to make yourself sick. Lie down with me.”
“No, I don't deserve to. I hit you in the face and now your eye is all black. I'm like, abusive.”
Alex chuckles softly. “You're not.” He pulls Cash down onto the bed. “You're just stressed out.” He kisses Cash on the temple. “You just have to calm down.”
Cash starts to hiccup. “I. I.”
“Shhh,” Alex hums again. “Just lay down and let's watch a movie.”
…
The door clicks open almost two hours later and Johnson's there with two large grocery bags. He thrusts them onto the bed. “You look gorgeous,” he mumbles. “Eat all the candy you and the baby can stand.”
Cash blinks up at him from his spot on Alex's chest. “Oh, Johnson,” he says softly.
“Oh my god. Just let me get my bag so I can go and we can never speak of this again.” Johnson grabs his bag. “I'm just going to stay with Marsh and Ian.”
“You can stay in our room, or we can go back there,” Alex says.
Johnson shakes his head and grabs Alex's key. “I decided to give up my solo room privileges to give Hansel and Sonny your room.”
Cash's eyes glisten again. “Oh, Johnson.”
“No. No. No,” Johnson says firmly. “Cash, Sonny will drop your bag off, and we're just going to all go to sleep and hope that everyone takes care of everyone and everyone stops being crazy.” He grabs his bag and slams the door behind him.
“When he said everyone, he meant me, didn't he?” Cash asks.
“Butterfinger?” Alex asks, pulling one out of the bag.
“Yes, please.”
…
“Dude, did the room just get fatter?” Marshall asks when Cash and Alex come in in the morning.
“Marshall,” Alex says warningly.
“I'm just saying,” Marshall says, leaning against Ian. “I think that maybe the room got a little fatter. You know, just now.”
Cash blinks back tears. Fucking hormones. He was pretty sure that he had worked all that out last night, but apparently fits of hormonal insanity were like morning sickness. They came and went as they pleased and surprised Cash whenever he thought he had it under control. He hates being pregnant. Also, his nipples hurt, but like hell he's telling any of the guys that.
“Cash looks amazing,” Alex says tightly. “And you're going to apologize right now, Alex Marshall. Or I'll. I'll. I'll something to you and it won't be pretty. If you were half the man Cash is.”
“I am half the man Cash is!” Marshall retorts.
Alex lunges at him and Marshall leaps out of the bed. That's when the slapping starts. Ineffectual slapping, mostly at air and each other's hands. “You little bitch!” Alex says.
“Pussy,” Marshall retorts.
“Pull his hair!” Ian calls from the bed, not to either one specifically. He's just throwing it out there.
Alex makes the grab first, yanking hard on Marshall's bangs.
“Fucker!” Marshall howls, grabbing a fistful of Alex's hair, pulling until they're circling around, just holding on to the bits of hair.
“Throw a goddamn punch like a man!” Johnson yells.
“Dude, no, Singer's already got one black eye,” Cash counters.
Alex and Marshall both stop. Alex looks horrified and Marshall starts to laugh so hard that he has to sit down on the ground. “What?” Cash asks.
“You assume he'd hit me first? I was defending your honor, asshole. I could have totally punched him.” Alex balls his hands into fists.
“If you punched him like that,” Cash points out, “you'd break your thumb. Just so you know.”
Alex looks down at his hand. “Damn it. I hate you all.” He throws himself onto the empty bed and sighs. “I'm never defending you again, Cash. You can just fend for yourself.”
“It'll be OK, soon he'll be knocking us all over with his ass,” Ian says. He narrowly dodges the pillow that Alex throws at him.
“Dude, you bitches couldn't handle being pregnant,” Cash says, sitting next to Alex. Apparently, his hormones have finally decided to calm the fuck down. “Also.” He lifts his ass and rips a huge fart. “Suck that.”
“Cash!” Alex yelps, covering his mouth with his shirt. “I'm right here! And I was being nice!”
“Casualty of war,” Cash says, waving a hand in front of his face. “Damn. Shouldn't have had those tacos yesterday.”
Part Two