A Baby Maybe

by Genna Donaghy

  "Turn around," Grayson said and reached into a nearby drawer for a packet.

  Wyatt read the label on the packet as lube. "Oh, we are doing this the old-fashioned way."

  "Only if you're quiet."

  "I can be," he promised. He'd bite his own tongue if he had to. Quickly, Wyatt fully pushed down his pants. His heart pounded as he half bent over the table. "C'mon, Doctor. Show me what you've got."

  In reply, Grayson cupped his jaw to bring Wyatt's head around and kissed him hard, all teeth and tongue. His fingers, slick with lube trailed over Wyatt's ass, sliding teasingly between the folds of his crack. Wyatt heard himself made a sound, soft and wanting as Grayson probed at his hole, slickening him up.

  He breached the tip of one slick finger in and, Wyatt's hands clenched on the flimsy paper covering the exam table.

  He broke the kiss, bending his head and offering his ass up. "More."

  Grayson obliged. Soon he had Wyatt fully bent, stroking his cock with one hand, two fingers buried deep inside. He found Wyatt's prostate like the doctor he was, practically milking it.

  The flimsy paper tore under Wyatt's clenched hands.

  "Fuck," Wyatt breathed, spreading his legs another millimeter. Pleasure jolting through him like lightening. He was going to come soon and come hard. "Grayson... Grayson! I..."

  Grayson kissed the back of his neck. The length of his cock rubbed against the back of Wyatt's thigh. Needy. Oh, how Wyatt wanted it inside him, but that would definitely contaminate the sample.

  Next time, he promised himself.

  "You ready to come for me?" Grayson's voice was husky with need.

  "Yeah," Wyatt gasped.

  Maddeningly, Grayson let go of Wyatt's cock to grab the sample cup and push it into Wyatt's free hand. The fingers inside him increased their pressure, pumping hard with enough force to make Wyatt nearly stand up on his toes.

  Grayson's other hand, soft but strong, wrapped around his cock, and that was what tipped him over the edge.

  Wyatt groaned as he came, thrusting back against Grayson. He shot into the cup, and he curled forward, letting Grayson milk him dry from the inside out.

  The pulses eased, but Grayson was breathing heavily. The doctor swore, pulling away from Wyatt to hurriedly grab for his own cup. A few strokes and he was coming, too.

  Well, that was one way to give their samples.

  Straightening, Wyatt propped himself up on the exam table. His legs felt like rubber, but he reached over and pulled Grayson into a kiss.

  "There. Now the baby has started off right," he said.

  Grayson laughed against his lips.

  Chapter Ten

  Wyatt sat back in his lounge chair by the pool. New Mexico's sun was too strong to handle for long with his Pacific Northwest complexion, but it was only eleven in the morning. He had a little time before the heat chased him back inside.

  A virgin juice cocktail sat by his side, complete with a fancy umbrella straw he'd found in the coffee cart. The extra touch made him feel like he was on a sort of vacation... especially if he didn't look at the crook of his arm. The skin on the inner part of his elbow was so marked up from daily blood draws that he looked like an addict.

  "There's your boy," Tyler said from the lounge chair beside him.

  Wyatt sat up, his sunglasses falling to the tip of his nose. Grayson strode across the deck on the other side of the pool, his lab coat waving in the warm breeze. People used the pool area as a shortcut from one wing of the Ranch to the other all the time, and Grayson was deep in conversation with another man with a medical assistant badge.

  Grayson glanced over to Wyatt, a bit too casual to be accidental. Their eyes met and Wyatt felt a tingle from the top of his head down to the soles of his feet.

  Grayson looked away, and Wyatt relaxed back in his seat and turned to Tyler. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Oh, please. I don't look stupid, do I?" Tyler's smile to Wyatt was mischievous. "You practically trip all over yourself every time that man comes within view. Is he your doctor?"

  Wyatt could feel himself blushing. "Yes. But..." He couldn't make the objection come out of his mouth.

  Grayson was nothing but professional outside of the exam room. But the knowledge of what they'd done was always there, between them. Like an invisible, sensual weight.

  Every time Wyatt looked at Grayson, he remembered the feel of his hands on him, the way he kissed, and the little noises he made when he came.

  Some of it must have shown on his face. Tyler leaned forward, the devil in his eye. "Have you two played doctor together?"

  Wyatt had been unlucky enough to be sipping at that moment. He coughed all over himself. After he recovered, he shot a glare at Tyler.

  His friend just grinned back, so unrepentant that Wyatt knew there was no point in trying to deny it any longer.

  "Am I really that obvious?" Wyatt sighed.

  "You both are really that obvious," he said, then amended, "But only because I'm your friend. Every time he crosses through the same room as you, he looks. And you look back."

  Great. Wyatt took a second, more cautious sip of his drink. "Don't tell anyone," he said, keeping his voice low. "They haven't exactly come out with any fraternization policies, but I like him as my doctor. I trust him."

  "Of course. I won't say a word, but I gotta know." Tyler leaned forward, the lounge chair squeaking a little. "Has your doctor let anything slip? Has anyone come up pregnant, yet?"

  "No." Wyatt tried not to let the touch of frustration he felt at that show in his voice.

  The insemination process had been over a month ago. It had been fairly anti-climatic. Wyatt had been put under twilight sedation, and had not remembered a thing about the procedure. Since then, however, their medical tests had been ramped up to eleven with daily blood draws, skin scrapings, ultra-sounds, and urine samples. He was just glad that he didn't have a shy bladder.

  "I don't think any of us are pregnant yet," Wyatt said, voicing his private fear. "They would want to announce it, wouldn't they? It would be sort of a big deal."

  "Sort of," Tyler repeated. "Only the first new babies in a generation."

  Every time he heard that, Wyatt felt a stir of pride and amazement in his chest. Despite all the medical tests, the training, the parenting classes and lectures on what to expect when one was expecting, it never felt quite real.

  Maybe it would, once he was looking down at his own big belly.

  "Sooo," Tyler drawled out the word. "How is your doctor, really?"

  "I thought you were straight. Why do you want the details?"

  Tyler shrugged. "I get bored, and this is as close to girl-talk as we get. Oh, c'mon, I'm not asking for a blow-by-blow." He wiggled his eyebrows and Wyatt snorted.

  "He's... sweet."

  "Wow, Wyatt, that sounds sweet," he said dryly.

  "He knows what he's doing," Wyatt amended, remembering the feel of those thick fingers pressed right up against his prostate. Milking him through the last pulses of his orgasm.

  A ghostly stir of arousal shifted through his groin. He shifted his legs, hoping to hide any telltale tenting in his shorts.

  Tyler looked like he was about to make another joke at Wyatt's expense, but was interrupted by commotion from the patio entranceway.

  "Fire!" someone screamed.

  "What?" Wyatt twisted and looked around. He didn't see smoke.

  "Fire! At the Lotto House!" another person yelped. A counselor rushed from the front door that led to the living room, his face such a mask of panic it might have been their own Ranch that was ablaze. "It's all over the news!"

  Immediately, there was a stampede to the living room. Men were already gathered around the large TV, which was tuned to the National News station.

  It was showing a helicopter shot of the compound. After so much media coverage, nightly updates, and constant news access, Wyatt felt like he knew the Lotto House just as well as his own. The western wing was completely engulf
ed in flames. Orange gouts of fire erupted from the windows, and the smoke that poured out was black and oily.

  As Wyatt watched, horrified, the camera angle shifted to the front lawn and then zoomed in with dizzying speed.

  A young man Wyatt's age with straw blond hair was running for his life from the building. He wore the same candidate grays as Wyatt. Flames covered his back and his left shoulder.

  As the unblinking eye of the camera watched, the man fell to the lawn and started rolling back and forth to put out the fire. Wyatt had no idea if it was working, only that some of the blades of grass around him caught ablaze, too, and—

  Nausea, sudden and swift, burbled up from the pit of Wyatt's belly. He turned from the TV and sprinted to the nearest restroom.

  He barely made it in time, falling to his knees and upchucking every last bit of the fruit drink and his morning's breakfast.

  "Here," a calm voice said once he was finished. Someone stood by his side and pressed a cool wet towel to the back of his neck. He didn't have to look up to know who it was. The voice and the efficient demeanor told him everything.

  Wyatt spit into the toilet bowl and reached for the handle to flush. "Thank you, Grayson."

  "Are you okay?" Grayson asked.

  "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" his voice came out as a rusty chuckle without humor. "You're the doctor, not me."

  A pause. "You're fine." From his lips, it sounded like half-prayer. "Can you stand?"

  Wyatt nodded, but took help from Grayson. Thankfully, he wasn't dizzy when he reached his full height, but he liked the feel of Grayson's sure hands steadying him.

  "The Lotto House..."

  "Don't think about that right now," Grayson urged.

  Wyatt closed his eyes. "Was the fire intentional?"

  "It's too early to tell." Grayson paused and let out a short, hard breath. "But my guess is yes. People are losing their minds out there, right now. A sizable portion of the population would rather see the human race die out than do anything they see as unnatural. I don't understand—" He cut himself off and his grip tightened for a moment on Wyatt. "I'm sorry."

  "No. I don't get it, either." Wyatt gave Grayson a thankful smile. "I'm feeling stronger now."

  "Good, because I'm walking you straight to medical."

  Wyatt groaned. "Really? I just got my blood drawn, and honestly I want to see what's happening in the news. This is important. I'm sure I can handle it—"

  "And I'll be looking over your blood draw, too. But no, this time I just need a quick urine sample."

  Wyatt caught a tinge of excitement in Grayson's voice. He turned his head and looked at the other man, an eyebrow raised.

  Grayson's smile was a quick thing. "You do know that one of the classic signs of pregnancy is morning sickness, right?"

  "Oh. Oh!" Wyatt had forgotten. It wasn't like he had any pregnant role models. His hand fell over his lower belly on instinct. "Yeah, let's go then."

  He had never been so excited to give a urine sample before.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wyatt was pregnant.

  He sat on the exam bed in a daze as medical staff chattered excitedly around him and compared notes. Men walked in and out of the room without his noticing. Important people, he was sure. Some struck up a conversation, but they tended to speak at him rather than with him, and were satisfied with his monosyllable answers.

  After all, he was only the vessel, and this was their crowning achievement after years of theories, tests, and hard work. Whatever Wyatt had to say was overshadowed by the new human life growing within his body.

  Not that he was complaining. Just...he wasn't sure what to think. He had trouble taking it all in. He thought he had been prepared. He wasn't.

  A touch on his shoulder brought his attention up to Grayson.

  "How are you doing?" Grayson's eyes were so concerned it nearly broke Wyatt's heart. It seemed like he was the first person in hours to see Wyatt, instead of the lump of cells within him.

  I'm not sure, he thought, but then mentally shook himself. No, that wasn't right. He knew exactly how he was feeling.

  "Honestly? Overwhelmed. I'm..." Wyatt trailed off, a hand resting over his belly. "I'm really pregnant? Really?"

  Grayson smiled a quick-flash smile and held up a clipboard. "I could show you the test results."

  The numbers and readings would mean less than nothing to Wyatt, but Grayson's hand was warm on his shoulder. He didn't want him to leave. And desperately, Wyatt wanted—needed to hear his calm, professional voice to make it real. After all, Wyatt wasn't just a mother. Grayson was a father.

  Something soft and vulnerable melted in Wyatt's heart.

  "Yes," Wyatt said, patting the side of the bed. "Sit here and explain what those numbers on your clipboard mean."

  From that point on, Wyatt was no longer known as a candidate, but as a 'mother'. It felt a little odd to use the old lexicon from when women were still alive, but it was better than 'carrier' or 'living womb' which was what he felt like.

  After Wyatt's confirmed pregnancy, new rounds of testing were ordered for every candidate in the Ranch.

  To his relief, Wyatt didn't keep the lone title of Mother for very long. Other pregnancies were soon announced. Between all the excitement, meetings with doctors, and rounds of blood testing—Wyatt practically lived in the medical wing— he had forgotten all about the fire in the Lotto House.

  When he remembered, he felt like an ass.

  But there was one person he knew he could go to get the skinny. Tyler was more obsessed with the events at the Lotto House than almost anyone he knew, which meant a lot because the Lottery was a nationwide obsession.

  As soon as he could get a moment to himself, Wyatt knocked on Tyler's door. His friend's room was on the same floor, only a few doors down from Wyatt's own.

  "It's unlocked!" Tyler called, voice muffled from inside.

  Only an excellent sense of balance (and years working in the food service industry) allowed him to get the door open with a couple of free fingers. "I come bearing food." He balanced a fruit platter in one hand, a cheese tray in the other. The leftovers from that morning's breakfast. Food was liberally provided in the Ranch, but it was nearly always loaded with fruits and green vegetables, and low-fat, non-preservative snacks. There were days when Wyatt would have killed for a bag of chips.

  Tyler sat at his writing desk, scribbling in a leather bound diary. He quickly closed the cover as Wyatt approached. "Hey, new Momma," Tyler joked as he stood to relieve Wyatt of the tray. "Congratulations."

  "Thanks, though it really wasn't any of my doing. The doctors did all the work." One doctor in particular, he silently added.

  Tyler smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

  "What's wrong?" Wyatt asked.

  "Nothing... Well," Tyler looked away and let out a long sigh. "I wouldn't know, would I?"

  It took him a moment to understand. Dismay flashed through him. "Tyler, you mean you're not—"

  "No. I got the final word today." Tyler shook his head and then very obviously forced a smile for Wyatt's benefit. "They say my uterus has developed like it should, so they're going to try again. Each candidate gets three rounds."

  "It'll happen," Wyatt said firmly. He had to believe it. Tyler was young and strong, and he wanted this just as much as Wyatt did.

  "I know." Again, there was the fake smile. "But enough about me. I know you came to celebrate, and... I'm happy for you, really."

  "Actually," Wyatt admitted. "I've missed three days worth of the news cycle, and I wanted to know what's been happening at the Lotto House."

  Tyler's dark eyes grew brighter. This had been the right track to take.

  "No one died, thank God," Tyler said. He took the tray and headed to the couch to sit, patting the space beside him to invite Wyatt to take a seat. "But two were badly burned. Brandon and Paulo—remember the spoiled brat who didn't want to do water aerobics in week two?"

  W
yatt nodded, nibbling a cheese cube. His stomach roiled a little in protest, but usually whatever he ate managed to stay down as long as it was in the afternoon. Maybe that was why women had called it 'morning sickness'.

  "Does anyone know if the fire was set intentionally...?"

  "Not for sure, but investigators have been all over the site," he replied. "It started in the medical wing. There's a lot of high-end equipment there, so maybe there was a fried wire or something. But they've increased security, just in case. Here, too."

  "I noticed," Wyatt said dryly. There were at least three guards on every floor, all dour-looking and not so much as returning a smile.

  "Yeah, I bet they're here to stay," Tyler sighed.

  "Do you think..." Wyatt swallowed hard and lowered his voice even though they were the only two in the room. "What if something were to happen here?" There were no camera crews to report incidents to the public. No friends or family to call. No one outside was supposed to know the Ranch even existed.

  Tyler was a sharp man. As usual, he didn't need to have Wyatt's worries spelled out to him. Chances were, he'd already thought of them long before they'd occurred to Wyatt. "Better know where the emergency exits are where ever you go."

  He nodded once, then voiced the question he really wanted to know. "So they're not canceling the program at the Lotto House? No one quit?"

  Tyler snorted. "Please, with the eyes of the nation on them? Those men don't have a choice but to stay." He paused and then quietly added, "I'm glad I'm not at the public site."

  They ate the rest of the tray in silence.

  As the weeks wore on, Wyatt's nausea increased. He truly learned what the meaning of morning sickness was.

  After days and days of a bland diet to keep his food down, spaced with intermittent bouts of bone-deep exhaustion, he was feeling less than sociable.

  He had retired to his room after watching the daily report about the Lotto House with the rest of the guys. He was just starting to drift off when there was a soft knock at his door.