Regret, Part 17 (Patreon)

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Summary: Elliott thought that getting massively pregnant was a fun idea, but ends up regretting his decision. Idea submitted by NLH.

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

Previous Chapter-

Elliott was a mess. He sobbed until he had no more tears, feeling drained and empty. But he wasn't empty. Not even close. He still couldn't get over how big he had gotten. He just kept growing. His body was a strange, foreign thing that he no longer recognized or understood. He was stuck with it.

For a while, he just lay slumped there on the couch, feeling the babies squirm inside him. He was used to their movements, but this was something else. Almost…agitated. Maybe they were just as miserable as he was. Maybe they could sense their other father’s absence.

Elliott needed rest. He had to get ready for his next shoot. He needed to do a lot of things—many of which Andrew would have ordinarily helped him with or handled altogether. Elliott felt so drained he couldn't even bring himself to get up. He sobbed there as the hours ticked by. He inconsistently dozed for short intervals until he could see the sun peeking up over the skyline through his front window.

He finally forced himself to get up only because he was starving and his bladder was full. He heaved himself up, grunting and straining. The trek to the bathroom was a feat. He was so heavy now, and had to support his belly with both hands otherwise he thought he might pitch forward.

Elliott stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like hell. His eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, his hair a mess. Then there was the rest of him. His belly was simply obscene, so huge and round and tight. His belly button was now a deep outie, sticking out at least an inch. His tits were big and heavy, the dark material of his tank top soaked with milk.

He tried to wash his face, but found it difficult to reach the sink. He had to stand sideways and stretch, and even then, his belly bumped against the counter. He felt clumsy and awkward. He felt like a fucking freak.

He was a freak, one who had cheated on his husband. He had ruined everything. And now he had no one.

Elliott went to the bedroom, easing himself against the edge of the mattress with a groan. The sight of Andrew's belongings just made his eyes tear up again. He needed to talk to someone. But only one person came to mind. Elliott pulled out his cell phone and found himself dialing Jeffrey's number.

Jeffrey picked up on the third ring. "Elliott? What's wrong?" The man’s voice was laced with concern. That was one thing he could say for Jeffrey. He was always there for him, in a way that Andrew sometimes wasn't.

"I…" Elliott started, but the words wouldn't come out. He wanted to tell him everything. But instead, all he managed was, "I need a ride to the shoot."

There was a pause. "Are you okay?" Jeffrey asked. "You don't sound good."

"I'm fine," Elliott lied, his throat tight. "I just…I don't have a car." And even if he did, he certainly wouldn't be able to fit behind the steering wheel.

"Of course," Jeffrey said without hesitation. "Three-thirty okay?"

"Yeah," said Elliott hoarsely. He drew a deep breath before adding, "Thanks, Jeffrey."

"Of course. Are you sure everything's—"

"See you soon," Elliott cut him off, before hanging up the phone.

-

Jeffrey's car was a sleek, black sedan. Low to the ground. Elliott looked at it in horror when it pulled up to the curb. There was no way.

"Get in," Jeffrey said, leaning over and pushing open the passenger door.

Elliott grunted, positioning himself sideways before trying to ease down. His belly bumped against the frame. "I can't," he gasped, panting from the exertion. He tried again, but it still didn't work.

Jeffrey's eyes widened. "Okay, um…" He looked from the car to Elliott's body as though attempting to solve a puzzle. "Let's try the back."

Clutching his immense abdomen, Elliott half waddled, half staggered, around to the rear of the car, hoping for a miracle. But it was no use. The back seat was just as cramped as the front. He squeezed in sideways, the car groaning in protest as he attempted to wedge himself inside. His belly was too wide, too massive. He was stuck.

"Hold on," said Jeffrey, getting out of the driver's seat. He rushed over to Elliott's side. "Maybe…if you lean back?" He put a hand on the small of Elliott's back, applying gentle pressure. Elliott grunted, trying to cooperate. But there was no give.

"I'm sorry," Elliott whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm too big."

"No, no, it's my fault," Jeffrey soothed. "I should have thought of this. I have an idea." He leaned across Elliott and pulled the lever, causing the seat to slide forward with a lurch. "Try now."

Elliott tried to wiggle himself in, but he was still wedged there.

Jeffrey then pushed the seat forward again, then pulled it back, trying to find the perfect angle. Elliott was mortified.

"Don't be embarrassed," Jeffrey said, after seeing Elliott's expression. "This is actually really…impressive."

Elliott reddened, confused by the word choice.

"Let's try the front again," Jeffrey said. "But this time, I'll help you." He opened the passenger door and held out a hand. Elliott took it, allowing himself to be guided.

Jeffrey pushed the seat as far back as it would go, and tilted it back as well.

Somehow, through much careful maneuvering, the two of them got Elliott into the passenger seat. By then Elliott was flushed and panting, his belly prodding against the dashboard. He couldn't imagine doing all this again. He supposed he would have to make other arrangements if…if Andrew didn't come back.

Elliott felt his throat constrict.

Jeffrey was laughing to himself as he slid into the driver's seat, but when he saw Elliott's face, he immediately sobered. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

Elliott just shook his head and fumbled with his seat belt.

"It's okay, I've got it," Jeffrey said, leaning across him to pull the strap across Elliott's body. He clicked it into place, the belt cutting into Elliott's belly. Elliott grunted in discomfort, shifting to try to alleviate the pressure.

"Sorry," said Jeffrey. "Is that alright?"

"It'll have to be," Elliott said weakly.

Jeffrey started the car. He didn't say anything for a while, just drove. Elliott appreciated the silence. He was so drained, and he was still processing everything that had happened with Andrew. He was a wreck. He didn't know how to fix it, or if it was even fixable.

"We had a fight," Elliott finally said, breaking the silence. "He…he found out."

"Found out?" Jeffrey looked at him, then back at the road.

"About us," Elliott whispered.

Jeffrey flinched, and Elliott braced himself for a lecture, or even anger. But Jeffrey just said, "Oh."

"Yeah," said Elliott. "He's gone."

Jeffrey was quiet again for a while. He kept glancing over at Elliott, his expression unreadable.

"I'm sorry," Elliott mumbled. "This is all my fault. I just…I don't know what I was thinking."

"It's okay," Jeffrey said. "It's not…I'm not sorry it happened. But I'm sorry for what a mess we've made." He reached over and placed his hand over Elliott's, which was resting on top of his belly.

—

Andrew was in an unusual state.

He had not expected to abruptly go from constantly coddling and comforting his absurdly pregnant little blonde boyfriend—an unusual state in itself—to taking residence on the couch of one of his college classmates, Emrick, who Andrew was certain didn't like him. At all.

Emrick would often stand in a corner staring at Andrew in a morbid way. It was as though he was endeavoring to make Andrew as uncomfortable as possible.

"Thanks for letting me crash here," Andrew said for what had to be the third time, mainly because of his lack of having anything else to say. There wasn't much commonality between them besides their Thursday afternoon Calculus II course. And honestly, Andrew preferred it that way (notwithstanding the fact that Andrew had taken residence in the other student's dorm).

I have no friends, Andrew realized. He was certain he’d had them once before. Was it just another thing he had sacrificed to Elliott’s demands for constant drama and attention? Andrew had been left with no friends, no family, and a ton of responsibility that often felt smothering.

He felt dazed as he sat there, staring out at nothing. As he sat on Emrick’s lumpy couch in that dingy little dorm with homemade curtain partitions.

"Can I get you anything?" Emrick asked after 75 seconds of unbroken staring.

Andrew glanced back at him. "No, I'm fine," he responded.

Emrick peeled himself off the wall and walked into the next room (behind one of the curtains). Andrew sighed and allowed himself to sink more deeply into the squishy cushions.

He should have been crushed. He supposed he was. Or maybe this was shock. He didn't know what he was supposed to be doing right then. Maybe he was just…processing.

He focused on breathing evenly.

It was kind of funny—in a sick way—but it was.

Elliott had forced him into this. Andrew hadn’t wanted it, but he was a sucker when it came to Elliott. He always gave in to whatever the blonde wanted. No matter how insane or plain stupid. Andrew was game. He had even warmed up to the pregnancy. He had liked everything about it. He had been willing to put in the time and work and take on the overwhelming financial burden. But maybe he had been too kind, too generous. Elliott was the one who had made the whole mess from the start.

“I'm all he has,” Andrew mused aloud. And for Elliott to cheat on him—in his condition? What the hell had he been thinking? It was insanity. It just didn't make sense. It felt like some crazy, deranged dream. And so Andrew sat in that dim, dirty little apartment, searching for something that could make everything right again.

“I have to see him,” Andrew spoke as the thought manifested. They had to figure this out. If Andrew left now, he could catch Elliott right when he was getting into work at the agency. If he still went to work that day. It was worth a shot. Andrew got up.

He found Emrick in the makeshift kitchen, leaning against a shelf as he stared into a cup of coffee.

“Hey,” Andrew said.

Emrick gave a slight start, as though he hadn’t expected anyone to be there. “Oh. Hi.”

“I’m heading out,” Andrew said, feeling awkward.

“Okay,” Emrick said, not looking at him. He lifted the coffee to his lips and took a slow sip.

“Right,” Andrew said, and then he left.

He drove towards the agency, his mind reeling, going through countless possibilities. What would he even say to Elliott? He didn't know, but he had to at least try. Andrew parked a block away and walked the remaining distance, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up as he went. Finally, he arrived in the front lot, but froze.

He spotted Elliott immediately, Jeffrey's arm wrapped about his waist as he helped him inside. The sight made Andrew’s stomach clench. He instantly felt sick.

He wanted to leave but found himself rooted to the spot. He watched as Jeffrey guided Elliott through the door, the older man’s hand lingering too long on the small of Elliott's back.

Andrew leaned against a car, suddenly struggling to suck air into his lungs. They couldn't see him like this. He sank down, drawing up his knees, quietly hyperventilating. He felt like a moron. He probably looked like a child, a mess, hiding behind some luxury car. Taken out by his own emotions. Pathetic.

Discarded.

"Hey?" someone said with a note of concern.

Andrew looked up sharply. It took him a moment to register who had come over, their uneasy gaze regarding him. Those big eyes were familiar. The lithe figure, unmistakably a model's. Andrew's lips moved until he managed to form the question, "Gavin?"

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