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MIW Fanfic, Ch One: Rockstar and Pregnant

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-RickyxChris mpreg-

Ricky's POV

They were moving some equipment around backstage before the show, and I just wanted to write. No, I needed to write. The show was about to start and I couldn’t go on like this. I went over to an old amp and set my notebook on top of it, leaning against it as I wrote standing up. The back of the venue was so cluttered it was standing room only. Whatever. I went back to writing.

Maybe I’ll get an abortion or something. I know I should probably talk to the daddy about it, but... I could just do it, and not say anything.

It’s hard to believe I’m really, well, y’know. But I saw the little guy - or girl - at the doctor today. It looks like a big-headed alien, and it was all curled up like a shrimp.

I don’t know if I want it.

Jessica wanted kids. That’s one of many reasons we finally split. I’m too busy with touring and recording and shit to be a parent. But, it’s one thing to say that when your girlfriend says she wants to go off the pill, and another when there’s a big-headed alien shrimp resting on top of your bladder.

One things for sure: I need a fucking cigaret--


I snapped the journal closed and looked up as Chris gently touched my side. He was just passing me backstage to get something. I blushed, looking down. This was our final show, right in Scranton, and afterward we’d all be going our separate ways for four and a half weeks before heading out on a huge three month US tour. Originally, I was going to fly out to Washington to see my parents and sister and stuff. Now, I had no idea.

I had to tell Chris tonight, or never tell him at all.

“Rick, you OK?” Chris asked. I’d tucked my journal safely inside my jacket. I always kept it secret, until I had something to post on my blog. No matter what I chose about the kid, though, this would definitely not be going on there.

“Yeah, why?” I said.

“Just checkin. You seem a little… Off.” He was right, if ‘off’ meant craving weird foods, acting like a bitch, giving up smoking, swapping coffee for decaf green tea, and gaining seven pounds.

“Nah, I’m just tired. It’s been a long tour.” My thoughts went onto a loop. Do I tell him do I tell him do I tell him?

Chris laughed and rubbed my back affectionately. Sweet Lord, that felt good. About six weeks into my pregnancy, I was already over the moving and performances and hauling equipment and all the touring shit. I wanted to go home and die. This back rub, though…

I’d closed my eyes, but opened them when the rubbing stopped. I blushed. God, I was such a fucking mess. A fat, pregnant mess. Me and Chris weren’t even together. Fuck everything.

I watched him cross his arms and stare at me. Waiting. I didn’t say anything; it was easier that way. Chris sighed.

“All right, Rick, spill--what’s really going on?”

My heart pounded in my chest. Blood pooled in my cheeks. I stared at his chest. I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t have to tell him.

“Five minutes, guys,” Ghost came by and told us. I wished I could go talk to him about it. Ghost was always so down-to-earth. Him, or Ryan, probably. Maybe even Balz. Anyone but Chris, actually. I should have told someone.

“Rick?” Chris asked. I blinked up at him. He was almost twice my size. Our baby was going to be huge. I tried to block out images of me being dwarfed by a belly.

“Let’s talk after the set.” I wasn’t sure if I meant that or not. Without another word, I went to join the other guys.

We played the final show. It sucked. Well, for me, it did, anyway. The crowd loved us. The venue was packed beyond fire code. But it was hot as fuck. I didn’t have enough energy to do all the jumping and shit. My back was still sore, and I felt sick to my stomach. I kept forgetting my cues, because I was too busy thinking about what to tell Chris.

As a performer, you’re supposed to leave life backstage and stay “in the moment” onstage, but you know what, though?

Fucking babies.

The show ended and I immediately raced outside and threw up in a bush. Here’s another thing: you know how morning sickness is only in the morning? That’s a lie.

I spat a few times to get the taste out of my mouth and looked up to see Chris waiting beside me. We were alone. He walked about six feet away and sat down on the empty sidewalk, patting beside him. I sat down, feeling miserable. At the moment I just wanted to climb into Chris’s arms and cry, but I couldn’t. Plan B was to light a cigarette and smoke my problems away, but I couldn’t do that, either.

“What’s going on?” the father of my unborn child asked. I looked up at the sky. There were no stars. How helpful. I sighed.

“I’m pregnant,” I admitted, “And it’s yours.” Chris sucked in a breath. I could feel his eyes on me and on my tummy. I could hear his brain putting the pieces together.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“You’re the only guy I bottom for. You know that,” I said. A cricket hopped onto the sidewalk and I squashed it with my foot.

“And you’re sure you’re pregnant?” Instead of answering, I unzipped my jacket and pulled out the ultrasound pictures from behind my journal. I handed them to Chris and listened as he shuffled through them. I wished I had a cigarette.

“Rick,” Chris said softly. I didn’t do anything. I was going numb. I zoned out and thought of my sister’s kids. They were cute, sure, but they were also snot-nosed brats who cried at all hours of the day and night. I didn’t know if I wanted to go from rockstar to parent. I didn’t know if I wanted to be Ricky Horror or Ricky Olson--let alone Rick Cerulli.

“Rick.”

“Hm?” I was toying with my shoelace.

“Look at me,” Chris said.

“I don’t want to,” I said quietly.

“Please? We need to figure this out.” We. ‘We’ was a calming word. It meant I wasn’t alone. But we weren’t together, either. We’d just fucked a few times, whatever. No biggee. Not dating. Not a couple. Not like that.

I looked at him. He wrapped me in his arms, pulled me into his lap. I cried. It was only a few tears at first, but once they started falling they wouldn’t stop. My body shook. My hands trembled. I couldn’t breathe. Cue the hyperventilation.

Chris held me and let me cry. He gently rubbed my back, somehow knowing exactly where it was sore. The he moved me back and studied my face. I knew my makeup was all sorts of crazy now, but I didn’t care.

“Stop, Rick, you’re so stressed. That’s not good for the baby.” The. The baby. Just a baby. Any baby. Not our baby, my baby, your baby--the baby.

He held me again and I didn’t talk.

“Who have you told?” Chris asked me.

“No one,” I said.

“How long have you known?”

“Officially? Found out 2 PM today.”

“And how far along are you?”

“Six weeks,” I said.

“Six weeks,” Chris repeated. He whistled softly. “So, what, 32 weeks till they’re here?”

I hesitated. “Yeah,” I said. “Assuming we keep it, anyway.” It. He. She. The baby. The kid. Them.

“You don’t want it?” Chris asked. Even with my head on his shoulder, looking out at the dark street, I could see his face: the disappointment, the let-down. It was different for him. He was about to turn 30.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Answer me, Ricky.”

“I said I don’t know.” I wrapped my arms around myself. I could feel where my stomach was starting to bloat from the kid. I wasn’t showing yet, I just looked constipated.

“So you don’t want to keep it?” Chris asked.

“That’s not what I said.”

“But you’re thinking about it.”

“Yeah.” I pulled away from him and drew my knees to my chest. I wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my head on my knees.

“Rick--why?” Chris asked. I could hear the emotion in his voice. I didn’t answer. It was too much to explain. It was my body and my life. If Chris changed his mind and he didn’t want it, he could just leave. It was easy for him. Me--fuck, keeping the kid meant losing everything from my sex appeal to my lifestyle and even my place in the band.

And I couldn’t even afford a kid anyway. Neither could Chris.

“Rick, hey. Don’t shut me out.”

“Sorry.” I could feel Chris watching me and I didn’t look back. I watched Ryan’s car pull out of the lot. He and Allie waved to us, and I waved back. It’d be four weeks till I saw them again.

“So, what, you’re just going to go home and in a month I’ll find out if I’m a dad or not?” I supposed Chris had every right to be pissed.

“Maybe.” I looked the other way. I knew how I sounded. I just didn’t care. I was hungry and tired and sore and hormonal and I didn’t want to deal with any of this.

“That’s bullshit,” Chris said, and I smiled.

“Yeah.” Yeah, it really was. Somehow admitting I was full of shit got me out of the funk, though. “Come with me tonight, to the apartment. We’ll get hot wings, settle down, watch Dracula 2000 and Buffy reruns.”

“You’re crazy, Rick.” Chris shook his head. Despite being in the band for five years, I still caught Chris off-guard with my abrupt topic switches. I just preferred to internalize things, was all.

I smiled and stood, offering my hand to him. I’d make up my mind on my own time, but that didn’t mean I had to alienate him.“Nah, I’m just pregnant. C’mon.” He took my hand and I took him home.
Decided I wanted to write mpreg. Also decided I wanted to finally tackle a RickyxChris fanfic. This is what came out of it.
I like how it's going so far. I have a lot of plot twists and ideas for both fluff and angst in this story, as well as a love triangle (if not a love polygon bc yay).
I know this isn't what I normally write, but I really like it, and hopefully, at least some of you will, too (:
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