Oops Pt. 02

This is a continuation of the story found here: https://www.literotica.com/s/oops-29

Content note: story contains references to (mild) transphobia; references to male pregnancy (real and fantasy); references to eldritch horror.

Gabe took Pete as his date to the hospital's holiday staff reception.

They both looked good, he had to admit, both freshly barbered, Gabe in dark jeans, ropers, and a corduroy jacket, and Pete in his gray conference suit. Pete reached over to adjust the knot in Gabe's red silk tie, and used the opportunity to run his hands down the front of Gabe's white shirt, across his broad chest and soft stomach. Gabe did the same, tweaking Pete's bow tie--in the same shade of red--and smoothing the lapels of his jacket.

"If we start handling each other like this, we'll never get out of the house," Pete warned.

"Yeah, I know. Want to?"

"Didn't you say it was a catered thing with an open bar? Bro, I'm a grad student. We never turn down free catering or an open bar."

"All right. After you." When Pete passed him, heading for the door, he smacked his rump good and hard, making him jump a little.

"Just wait till I get you home," Pete said, and Gabe laughed.

The party was fun, with good food and plenty of alcohol, although Gabe stopped after two whiskey sodas so he'd be safe to drive.

The female nurses, as expected, were delighted with Pete. Gabe hadn't planned on coming out at work--he was big, and masculine, and beardy, and a war veteran, and nobody expected him to be into other dudes--but there had been attempts at fix-ups with some of the single women, and he'd needed a reason to turn them down that didn't hurt anyone's feelings. Word had spread quickly, but it hadn't caused him any problems, even with the religious types. If anyone had an issue with his personal life, they kept it to themselves.

He'd thought their fascination would be annoying, but found that it was sort of fun. The girls were a little tipsy--he hoped they all had plans to Uber home or someone was playing DD--in their sparkly jumpsuits and cocktail dresses, their shimmering makeup, thrilled to be out of scrubs for a night, proud of their open-mindedness, being friends with gay guys.

"So how did you two meet?"

"At a bar," Gabe confessed. "But we already had friends in common."

"Not on an app? Don't you guys use Tinder or something?"

"No, it's Grindr," one of the other girls supplied. "Grindr is the one for gay guys."

Gabe had found hookups through Grindr, of course, and so had Pete. Everyone had. But neither liked it very much. Gabe had used it when he was fresh out of the service, but had found that what he actually needed right then was a hug from a friend, from a man who actually liked him. The orgasm he could take care of on his own, and it wasn't worth the coldness left behind by some dude who wouldn't even look him in the eye. Pete had used it for longer. It was affirming for him, Gabe thought, to have all the fags showing up for his trans ass. But PreP upset his system, and you never knew who had the bug, and after he'd drawn a weird one who had tried to treat him like a sissy or a woman and who also wouldn't wear a condom, he'd backed all the way off.

One of the girls told a very mildly scandalous story about a Tinder hookup of her own, when she was reeling from an early divorce and just wanted to feel sexy for a night.

"Chiiiile," said another. "You never told me you were so skanky."

"It was just once!"

"Did you get off, at least? Sometimes that doesn't happen with a new guy."

"No! I didn't! And I put on a thong and a bra that pinched me and waxed all the way up and everything!"

"That unappreciative bastard," Gabe deadpanned. The girls erupted in giggles although it wasn't all that funny.

"I guess it's different for you guys, huh," the Tinder girl said wistfully. "Wait. You are both guys, right? You're not those weird pronoun people we keep hearing about?"

"No," Pete said gently. "We're just guys. Not weird pronoun people." But he began to draw Gabe away for a second run on the food, and Gabe let himself be drawn.

"So they don't know about me."

"Why would they need to?"

Pete's shoulders relaxed. "I don't know, I wondered if it might have slipped out, or something."

Gabe felt anger kindling. "I'm not in the habit of outing people I care about. They don't know about that"--he dropped his gaze to Pete's belly, which still rounded gently against the front of his dress shirt--"either. Because like the other thing, it is our private business, and not theirs." His speech always got a little more precise after a couple of drinks.

"Hey," came a female voice from behind them. Gabe jumped.

"I just wanted to apologize. For that thing she said about the pronoun people."

Pete stared at her, and even without touching him Gabe could feel the tension thrumming through his frame.

"I just thought, ya'll probably have transsexual friends, and ya'll wouldn't like to hear 'em being made fun of."

"We do have trans friends," Pete said smoothly. "And thank you. Those folks have it hard enough already."

"My brother's a drag queen in Austin," she confided. "I know it ain't quite the same, but... Maybe you know him?" She gave a stage name that of course they didn't know.

The three of them stood around chatting and eating appetizers for a while, until the girl drifted back to the gaggle of women nurses.

After another whiskey sour, Pete said "Hey. Want to make like a terrorist and blow this joint?"

Gabe snorted laughter. "Dude, this is Texas. That's apt to get you shot."

They said the necessary goodbyes--to the nurses, to Gabe's boss, to a couple of the ER docs who were probably too sloshed to remember it--and slipped out. Pete kept his hand on Gabe's inner thigh on the drive back to their apartment, and Gabe could feel his dick filling, straining against his jeans, which were a little too tight.

When Pete said "Hi," and let his hand wander further inland, Gabe asked him if he wanted him to wrap the truck around a pole, and Pete said that wasn't the pole he was interested in, but pulled his hand back.

Once inside, they grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the kitchen cabinet--the new apartment had an actual kitchen, with actual cabinets, not jerry-rigged shelving, as well as a pass-through and a breakfast bar--and headed for the bedroom.

"Hey," said Gabe.

"Hey," said Pete.

Gabe took a slug of bourbon, straight from the bottle, and felt it warm his throat and stomach. Then the bottle clattered onto the night table and his hands were on Pete's lapels and he was jerking his lover's shorter, slighter body forward and bending down to press his lips against Pete's mouth.

Pete's hands on Gabe's Wrangler-clad ass.

Gabe's hand fisted in Pete's mullet.

Bellies pressed together, chests heaving.

Teeth on lips and lips on lips and hands reaching for belt buckles, each other's and their own, and trousers falling and jackets and dress shirts following them.

"Fuck, wait a minute," Gabe said, sitting down and reaching for his boots, tangled up in his fallen Wranglers. Pete kicked off his wingtips and stood there a moment in his boxer briefs and black knee socks, watching him, smiling, then dropped to a knee and said "Here, let me."

Pete planted a kiss on the toe of each boot, tonguing them daintily, looking up to make eye contact with Gabe in a way that made Gabe's chest tighten and his breath come painfully short, and then he dragged off Gabe's boots and tossed them aside, letting them clunk onto the vinyl plank floor. They were followed in short order by Gabe's Wranglers. Then he ran a hand up Gabe's hairy inner thigh to his package, already dampening the straining fabric of his red plaid boxers, and opened the fly to allow Gabe's seven or so inches of lively flesh to spring free.

"Oh, hello, there," Pete said. "Well, since I'm down here."

And then his mouth was on Gabe, Gabe was inside him, all the way inside him, all the way down to the root, and Gabe made a noise that had no words.

One hand braced on the mattress behind him, the other one gently stroking Pete's wavy hair and shaved sidewalls--Pete had told him early on that petting him while he went down was all right but grabbing or trapping him was not. It made him panicky--he'd been forced once, in the girl part of his life-- and when he panicked he was liable to bite.

Gabe's heart pounded in his chest. Pete was all heat and wetness and suction and happy little noises, and then there was something with Pete's tongue, Jesus Christ, that was something he'd never felt before, something brand new.

Then Pete looked up at him again, those light eyes under the fall of hair, and Gabe drew a deep shuddering breath, cupped a hand under Pete's jaw, and withdrew himself with a heroic effort.

"Before I drown you. Jesus Christ."

"What if I want you to drown me, bro?" Pete wiped his mouth with the back of one hand.

"Get up here, dude."

Pete got up there, sprawling on the king sized bed next to Gabe. Gabe lay back, and they both reached for each other.

"If I drown you," Gabe told him in between kisses. "You won't be around for when I rail you into next Tuesday."

Pete shook his head. "I want you to use your hand on me, bro. Jerk me off. I want to be the one who rails you. To Wednesday, actually."

Obligingly, Gabe pushed Pete over onto his back and ran his huge hand down Pete's hard chest and softened belly, down his silky treasure trail, to his hairy bush and the moist cleft waiting there. He slipped his fingers in, and Pete gasped and arched his back.

"God fucking dammit, I love how you touch me." He ground his hips into Gabe's hand as Gabe's fingers found his T-dick and began to stroke. "Jesus, that's so fuckin nice." Pete reached up to pull Gabe's head down to his.

"So you want to be the one who rails me, huh," Gabe murmured against Pete's lips.

"So fuckin hard, bro. I'm going to give it to you so fucking hard." One of Pete's hands lay on his ribs, and the other found Gabe's dick and gripped it firmly. "You're going to get so fucking pregnant."

At that, Gabe's dick twitched in Pete's fist, and Pete laughed delightedly, a little breathless. "What's that you said a few months back, bro? Dick doesn't lie? You know you want it."

Gabe tightened his own grip on Pete's tiny dick, slick with his own juices, and quickened his pace. Sweat broke out all over Pete's lanky body, and heat baked out from his core, and that was how Gabe knew he was close.

"Oh god," Pete groaned. "Little harder, almost there."

Gabe did as he was told, and Pete said "Uh, uh, uh, oh, holy shit," and fell back gasping. "That was awesome. Thanks, bro."

"So polite," Gabe teased him. "Such a nice little gentleman. I think you're too polite to rail anybody."

"We'll see about that," Pete said, rolling over with an effort and reaching for the bedside table on his side. There was a Joque harness in there, and a couple of different dicks, one realistic, the standard six inches that most men had, just in silicone rather than meat, and the other--much larger--like something out of science fiction.

While Pete got himself all assembled, Gabe took another drink of whiskey, and then another, and let his body relax. If he wasn't going to top, he didn't have to worry about staying all that hard.

Dick on and ready for action, Pete bounced a little on the bed. The bed had been a gift from the lesbians, a housewarming present and a thank you for the significant gift that Pete and Gabe--but mostly Pete-- had given to them. Obviously, the lesbians had said, for money to change hands would be grotesque, as well as professionally improper, but they wanted to do something. And the something had turned out to be a huge old oak four-poster and a top of the line mattress and boxspring. Plus a set of good sheets and a new duvet.

"So I want to do you, but I also want to look at you like this," Pete told him. "Look at you, bro. How come you're so hot?" He ran an admiring hand down Gabe's torso, letting it come to rest on his stomach. Pete liked big men. He said there was nothing sexier, nothing more appealing, than a strong man with a nice round well-fed belly. "One of these days we're going to have to tie each other to the bedposts and go at it that way. What's the point in having an awesome bed like this if we don't, like, fully exploit it?"

"Want to do it tonight?"

"Nah. Tonight I just want to screw you." He took the whiskey bottle from Gabe's hand and drank, nearly upending the bottle. Then he dribbled a bit down Gabe's hairy chest and bent to lap it up, one hand on Gabe's dick, stroking him back to full hardness. While he was working his way along the hollow of soft flesh between Gabe's sternum and the swell of his gut, Gabe stroked Pete's hair and worked the fingers of his other hand into the tight muscles of Pete's shoulder.

"You're getting tech neck. You need to go outside more." Then he shivered from the pleasure of Pete's firm grip on his root and Pete's mouth on his belly.

"Tell that to my fucking committee." Pete sat up and released him. "Roll over on your stomach, big man. Show me that ass."

Gabe grabbed the whiskey bottle back, took one last swallow, and set it aside, and then, head swimming a little, rolled onto his belly, looking back at Pete and Pete's thin, avid face, and Pete's crazy sci-fi dick.

"Go slow with that thing. You can't just shove it in me." His heart had begun to pound. It had been a while since they had played with this one.

"Do I tell you how to do your job?"

"Well, yes, actually, you do."

Pete massaged the heavy muscles of Gabe's glutes and hams, then worked his way up to Gabe's lower back, pressing his thumbs into the flesh on either side of his spine. Gabe sighed and gave his butt a little wiggle. His dick pressed hard into the bed, between his belly and the mattress, and he raised his hips a bit and slipped a hand in there to caress it. Then there was the cool wetness of lube, and Pete's fingers probing, exploring, and then there was the heavy press of the crazy dick, its alien coldness exciting in a way Gabe hadn't known he would like before he'd let Pete fuck him for the first time. There was pleasure bordering on pain, and then there was a brief flare of actual pain, and then Pete was all the way inside him, bottomed out inside him, and pausing a bit before he began to ease himself out and then back in again.

"Jesus Christ."

"Jesus, you feel so tight," Pete murmured, although he couldn't possibly know. His rhythm felt a little unsteady at first, probably thanks to the whiskey, and then Gabe felt him angle his dick forward, stroking its weird ridges against Gabe's prostate, and conscious thought left him for a while as he tried not to cry out in pleasure.

"I'm going to make you so fucking pregnant."

Gabe's ass rose to meet Pete's insistent thrusts.

"SO fucking pregnant. How do you like that idea, huh?"

Gabe moaned wordlessly. Pete drove into him. In his mind's eye, Gabe could see a microscopic speck of Pete, traveling its blind route through his innards, roosting there, beginning to divide, to divide again. Could feel the growing weight deep in his belly, could feel his belly's urgent, inexorable press behind his belt buckle as it began to bloat, as it began to bulge. He moaned again.

"Yeah, you want it," Pete told him, panting with excitement, with pleasure, Gabe couldn't tell. "You want your belly full of my kids. Full to bursting with my kids. Fair's fair, bro."

A few more long, sure strokes--any hesitation or unsteadiness long gone now with the inspiration of this new idea--and Gabe gave a muffled shout and erupted all over his own hand and fell limp, face pressed to the mattress.

Pete extracted himself and stripped the condom off--clean-up was needlessly complicated without one. He flopped over onto his back next to Gabe, silicone dick still erect and wagging gently to and fro.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Gabe tried to catch his breath.

"Was that weird? I feel like that was a little weird."

"Yeah, that was weird." Gabe groaned and rolled onto his side so he could face Pete.

"Bad weird or--?"

"Not bad weird. I came, didn't I?"

"You came hard as fuck, bro."

Gabe reached over and took hold of Pete's dick, gave it a stroke or two. "Who knows, man. Who knows what this weird sci-fi-looking junk can do?"

Pete laughed a little nervously.

They dredged themselves out of bed long enough to pull a fresh sheet onto the mattress and stuff the soiled one into the hamper and to kick their clothes and boots and shoes into the corner. They put on fresh undershorts--neither slept naked--and Gabe took the whiskey bottle back to the kitchen while Pete tossed his dick into the bathroom sink to await proper cleaning and sanitation in the morning.

When they were cuddled up in bed again, under the duvet, lights out, breath smelling of whiskey and toothpaste, Gabe said sleepily, "What did it feel like?"

"Hm?"

"When you had my kid in your belly. What did it feel like?"

"You know." Pete squirmed uncomfortably. "Didn't I complain about it enough?"

"Tell me anyhow. Tell me what it felt like."

"Bro. It was SO fucking weird. This thing. In your belly. Moving around whenever it wanted. Making you all--all distended. All ... full. It really does feel like your belly could burst."

Gabe stroked Pete's lower belly under the covers, and Pete pushed his hand away. "Don't do that. Don't touch me there right now."

"All right." Gabe moved his hand to Pete's lean chest instead, felt the pounding of his heart beneath his palm.

"That's better. Thanks. It gives you the most fucked-up dreams, bro. I mean, the MOST fucked up dreams."

"What did you dream about?"

"Mostly that it wasn't a human kid at all. That I had a big swollen belly full of snakes, or worms, or like an octopus or a squid or something, squirming around in there, and when it wanted out it would--. Ugh. The H.R. Giger thing from the Aliens franchise was also a major theme."

Gabe emitted a muffled laugh. "Sorry."

"No, it actually is kind of funny. And then I'd been reading a bunch of H.P. Lovecraft because I've got a comp field in horror fiction? And that made the dreams even more fucked up. I woke up once absolutely convinced my--my belly was being used as a portal for the elder gods." Pete snorted. "It took hours for me to ditch that idea, even after the sun came up. Cthulu fhtagn. Yog Sothoth, the key and the guardian of the gate. Fuck, man."

Pete shuddered under Gabe's hand, and Gabe felt the air in the room shift the way it did when an airplane lost sudden altitude. He swallowed hard to clear his eardrums.

"I want big spoon," Pete said, and Gabe obligingly rolled over and let him have it.