Title: All New
Author: julefontane/~anouk zucker
Characters: House, Wilson, Chase
Rating: R for adult concepts, to be safe
Warnings: AU, means here: mpreg (male pregnancy) and male lactation.
If the idea of male pregnancy in fiction doesn't suit you, leave it, do not read this story, go directly (or straight, hehe) to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200! Please, do yourself the favor. All others: proceed.
Summary: Little ficlet about nursing and names.
Excerpt: "The first little sounds of distress can be heard because the last feeding was so long ago in infant universe, he can't even remember how to get to the sweet tasting substance that makes warm and full and sleepy."
A/N: I'm intrigued by the idea of male pregnancy. The characters dealing with their new condition, this alien thing happening to them, their changed bodies and alternated gender roles within their relationships with (a) partner/s, and in society is fascinating. And I like House pregnant and nursing. I know he wouldn't like me for that;))
Background for this story: I like to think that House, here, always had two sexes, meaning both, fully functioning male and female reproductive parts. He has ovaries, a womb and a birth canal which forms an opening in his perineum (I don't have a name for it, yet); he does not have a menstrual cycle. He managed to keep this hidden; only his parents knew, which strained the relationship with his dad; and maybe someone in college found out; and Stacy knew, the only partner he lived with for a longer period of time. And now for something completely different:
House sits in the rocking chair, the baby in his arms, his son.
He's twelve hours old now. He's got his father's ice blue eyes and a downy dark brown tuft.
House smiles slowly at the unproductive abrupt movements of tiny fists, the still unfocused eyes looking around. The first little sounds of distress can be heard because the last feeding was so long ago in infant universe, he can't even remember how to get to the sweet tasting substance that makes warm and full and sleepy. House coos and shushes him. Time for the fifth round of feeding.
He holds the baby with one arm and places the soft white pillow in his lap for support. He leans back to open his shirt one-handed, his fingers flicking open two more buttons and he pushes it down over his right shoulder, out of the way to expose one side of his chest. It's slightly more swollen, the nipples standing out. The baby starts to crow urgently, sensing and smelling the proximity of his father's milk, patience an unknown concept. House shushes him again, carefully positioning him in his arm and on the pillow, bringing him close to his nipple to let him nuzzle and lick until he latches onto it on his own and begins to suckle, making some little urgent sounds. House sucks in a breath, the strange tugging feeling of the nursing still unfamiliar. He makes himself relax and watches his small son suckle. Three tiny sucks, one swallow, and repeat; the breathing through his little nose harsh and quick with the effort.
He still can't fully grasp that this is his baby; he made him. Well, with Wilson's help. And the making had been quite enjoyable; the carrying around in his belly, the fussing of everyone around him, the repulsive reactions from strangers, Cuddy's fainting when she heard of it, the strenuous birth; all this had been less fun, although, Cuddy fainting and acting all upset and betrayed had been a treat, really. As if the two of them ever had had a chance of making a baby together. Obviously and ironically House was the highly fertile one – getting pregnant after one night, without even trying. Poor Cuddy had to find out that they weren't merely fertilizing each other intellectually and figuratively, nay, they also did it literally and very effectively. Well, Wilson did the inseminating; House's hermaphroditic sex provided the fertile grounds.
He shifts carefully to change sides. Still sore from releasing a four pound bundle into the world through an orifice frequently used only in the last few months, every movement still caused him discomfort; Wilson had bought him one of those "donut-pillows" which actually helps a little. To release the suction on his nipple he slips his pinkie in the corner of the baby's mouth, then slides his shirt down his left shoulder and cradles him in his other arm, letting him find the nipple and begin the nursing again. He leans back when he's sure the baby is latched on properly and looks out the window of his room. It's quiet, but there have been faint noises coming from the loft's kitchen for the last five minutes. Wilson and Chase must have started dinner. Chase had been there during birth, delivering the baby. House had called him and Wilson numerous unmentionable names in the process and if he had have the strength would have kicked them both for being so damn annoyingly caring; he had actually screamed at Chase to kill Wilson should he ever want to come near him again. He isn't so sure anymore now. Those crazy hormones really did their job. After only twelve hours they begin to fog his mind, make him forget the excruciating, incomparable pain – maybe the leg was an exception – he'd felt and make him think this was all a fantastic idea – why not do it again? The reward was this thing in his arms making him all soft and gooey, making everyone soft and gooey, and hopeful and joyous.
He looks down at his son again, his sucking becoming gentler, slower, until his soft little mouth slides off and he falls asleep. The door to his room opens quietly behind him and he cranes his neck to see Chase tip toeing in, smiling a little and putting down a cup of coffee on the nightstand. "Chase," House whispers and beckons him over. Chase takes the baby from his arms so House can get up. He very gently lays him into the crib and puts the small baby blanket over him that Blythe had sent them. House stands beside him, wiping his chest with a wet cloth and buttoning his shirt. He bathes Chase in a cloud of new born and lactation scent, which is kind of intoxicating and makes Chase inhale involuntarily. He looks down at House's shirt, his nipples clearly visible. He opens his mouth to say something and looks up to meet House's scowl. His eyes go round and he lifts both hands, palms out, whispering urgently, "I was just going to ask you if you need anything for soreness! I think I've seen more than enough in the delivery room!"
House enjoys the effect he still has on Chase. He pulls his best bewildered face, watching Chase wince, thrust his arm out and take a deep breath for another apology. Then realization seems to hit him. House looks at him with raised eyebrows.
"OK, do you always have to do this?"
"Ha, I knew you weren't comfortable!"
"I am! But not when you pretend I'm ogling you or anything."
"You were sniffing me." House looks at him with narrowed eyes. Chase gives him a speculative look, pursing his lips.
"You smell good. – Which doesn't mean anything!" House's mouth twitches in a smile, then he sighs and drops his head.
"I sure smell like a dairy farm. Come on, I don't want junior to wake up ahead of time." House leans down to look at his baby again and tugs the blanket in around him a little. His eyes are firmly closed in deep, oblivious sleep, the little pink mouth slack, his chest raising and falling steadily. House lays two long fingers on his son's chest delicately stroking before eventually turning away. They leave the door ajar, quietly making their way to the open kitchen.
Wilson is filling bowls with steaming hot, hearty chicken soup and sets them down on the counter. He smiles at House, grabs him and kisses him on the mouth, pressing his nose to his cheek.
"Mmm, you smell good." House rolls his eyes. "Eat. I want to take a look at junior – we definitely need to find a 'first' first name, soon." Wilson starts to walk away.
"Already got one." Wilson turns, surprised.
"OK. What do you want to name him?" House looks at him, calm and serious. He takes a deep breath.
"Lawrence. I think it's a good name." Chase and Wilson look at him at the mention of Kutner's first name, wide-eyed; Wilson then exhales noisily and puts his hands on his hips. He pinches his lips together in a Wilson-y smile, close-mouthed and accepting; and he nods, raising his eyebrows.
"I guess it is. – Fine, let's name him Lawrence." Looking into his eyes he touches House's neck and strokes his thump along his jaw tenderly; then he goes to look at their child.
Lawrence Daniel House – a powerful name.