Day #1 - ADVENT CALENDAR 2025

Disclaimer: All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. This content is intended for mature audiences only. By proceeding, you acknowledge that you are legally permitted to view explicit material in your jurisdiction and understand that this work contains adult themes.

WORD COUNT: 7k words

SUMMARY: The main thing in Viewpark during Christmas time is their tree. Russell it’s the man who does the big thing: plug it in to make it shiny and colorful. It’s the one thing that can’t fail in this town, and it doesn’t matter who’s heavily pregnant or in labor. For Russell’s bad luck, he’s heavily pregnant, in labor, and being streamed live on television for the world to see.

TAGS: mpreg, public birth, clothing birth, labor denial, cismpreg, anal birth

The Viewpark Christmas tree uses merely 1,297 kilowatt-hours of energy every day. It's the biggest attraction this town has to offer in the months when snow extends over the fields until it blends in with the horizon, and the streets remain empty for most hours of the day.

It was the one thing that marked the official start of the Christmas season.

Its biggest fault was that it required a lot of maintenance. Way too much, on Russell’s opinion. Way too much work for the understaffed town squad that was in charge of the whole deal.

But it was the biggest attraction this damned town had to offer, and God forbid it didn't happen. Specifically, not this year. The governor had come down to their office for the first time in a while to tell Russell and his squad that nothing could go wrong this year, under no circumstances.

For the first time in the story of Viewpark, the lighting of the three was going to be broadcast live on television, from this hellhole to the world.

Russell shouldn’t have been working. That was an obvious fact to anyone who would dare to deviate their gaze from the giant three standing tall and proud in front of them. If they had just turned to look inside to see the man standing next to the glass door, they would have realized.

It was obvious by the way his work overall stretched over his gravid stomach, by the way his whole body seemed to be in a constant fight with itself between standing like a dignified man and accommodating to the huge baby inside of him. His middle was pulled forward by gravity, back arching by the weight of his stomach, legs wide apart, hands firmly pressed against his underbelly in an attempt to ease the strain on his lower back.

Russell shouldn’t be working. In fact, his doctor had recommended he take paternity leave long ago, but alas. Here he was. 

He wasn’t even going to say yes to coming in today, but his boss was very convincing. It was going to be quick. Come and go. He just had to go up there and plug in a cord. No one else in this town was going to be paid like Russell was getting paid just to plug in a cord.

Of course Russell said yes. Fairly, he was indeed getting paid a shit ton of money just to plug in a cord. But being honest, he didn't really trust anyone else not to do this without fucking it up.

Being a workaholic didn't just magically go away because he was having contractions.

His eyes moved from the crowd outside the glass door to the massive screen mounted on the building behind them, flashing in bright colors, lit up the faces of the people, all the glory of a run-down Times Square imitation.

Fifteen minutes. It had been fifteen minutes since his last contraction. Not cramp— he was very well aware of the difference in the discomfort of a cramp and the painful tightening of a contraction.

Russell swallowed, his fingers tightening around the base of his stomach, his back arching, feeling the fabric of his work overalls push back against his middle as the tension took over the muscles of his stomach. The flesh was rock hard against his touch, uncomfortable, painful enough to make him squirm in place.

He breathed in slowly, then out, watching his breath fog the glass in front of him.

He had time. He had all the time in the world. Of course he had time.

He was going to get up there, plug the damn cord in to see that little star light up, and get a shit ton of money. Then, he was going to get a cab and head to the hospital to have this baby, probably.

But he had time. Nothing to worry about. These kinds of things could take ages.

“You ready?” Alan’s voice came from somewhere behind him, before he felt the slap on his back and the smell of the perpetual cigarette clinging to his coworker’s lips. “We’ll start in 20.”

Russel turned to face the other man, nodding. Alan took a drag of his cigarette, pulling the beanie down over his bald head and turning to look outside the glass door. The crowd kept growing by the minute, piling up against the crowd control barriers, kids shaking the bars, adults waving tacky, glowing toys in the air.  

“These people are like fuckin’ toddlers. Anything that shines and has loud sounds will get to ‘em.” Alan shook his head. “God, I’m fucking freezing in here. Aren’t you cold?”

“Eh,” Russell shrugged, brushing a hand over the fabric of his overalls. “Not really.”

He wasn’t, really. Alan let out a sound before throwing his cigarette into a nearby trash can, and then, his eyes travelled down Russell’s body, lingering for a second too long on his stomach. Well, he didn’t have to say it out loud for Russell to see the slight hesitation in his look, the way his eyes went over the curve of his stomach.

“When are you due, anyway?” Alan asked with a small laugh. “You sure it’s just one? You’re huge, buddy.”

“Just one. And not due for a while.” Russell lied.

Technically a lie. A while could mean a few weeks or a few minutes.

This event was probably the only thing in this town where the government didn’t fuck it up. It was carefully timed, made to measure so that no detail would be missed and so that everything would remain framed within perfection. And Russell having this damn baby right now was not exactly in the plans.

He had time enough to keep this baby inside of him.

***

Thirty-five minutes. They had been waiting for this little show to start that long. They were five minutes late. 

Something to do with someone not picking up the phone to authorize something. Not like Russell cared or was paying attention to.

Right now, all he could think about was how, all of a sudden, the baby inside of him had dropped fucking low. 

At first, he had thought that the slight discomfort that had settled slowly over his body as the minutes passed was just the result of, well, the obvious: being this heavily pregnant and standing for so long, the AC on way too high (it had to be high, because he was almost sweating now). Maybe it even could have been the way the number of people outside seemed to have doubled in the last few minutes, making just looking outside feel claustrophobic.

But no. The discomfort he was feeling was the weight of a huge baby nestled deep in his pelvis, slowly trying to force its way past his hips.

Russell let out a small groan when he felt his stomach tensing. God, it was getting harder and harder to just stand there and do nothing. Even remaining still was becoming uncomfortable, excruciating —rather, standing there, still, and trying to remain quiet to pretend he was not in labor was becoming very, very annoying.

Even when Russell just refused to admit that this labor deal was going on a bit faster than he anticipated.

The sudden strain on his breath went unnoticed amidst the increasing commotion of the crowd outside. Russell's hands fidgeted trapped inside his pockets, palm flat against the fabric of his overalls. His fingers twitched. He was making an unnatural effort at keeping his eyes on the crowd outside, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible.

The last thing he needed right now was someone noticing that he wasn't exactly fine, to have this whole thing postponed. He just wanted to get this over with.

And he had time. It was fine. He had time. 

But God, he couldn’t help but let all his focus fall on keeping his hands still inside his pockets instead of roaming over his middle to try and soothe the pain, to keep his fingers from curling around the fabric stretching over the tense surface of his stomach. 

Russell forced his shoulders to drop, his eyes drifting around him.

His stomach contracted.

“Oh, fuck…” he hissed, biting his lips. “Holy shit.”

Russell's body moved by inertia, the natural reaction to the pain seething through the burning muscles of his stomach as the contraction taking over his middle reached its peak. The plan of trying to remain calm was not going so well because the involuntary sound that escaped his mouth took him almost by surprise. One of his hands flew to press over his mouth, and Russell forced a fake cough to try to drown the moan.

His eyes drifted to find the faint glimpse of his own reflection in the glass in front of him. Russell immediately clocked in the way his body was leaning forward, his back arched where the strain of his huge gut pulled him forward, the huge dome hanging low in front of him. The way he could physically tell exactly where the pressure between his legs was starting to build up. God. The baby's head was crashing down on his hips, huge and heavy and pushing down.

Russell startled when the glass in front of him trembled, something huge smashing into the surface, blocking the view. A sharp pang took over his stomach, his hands scrambling to cover his belly, palms open protectively against the tense sphere. Some guy was knocking on the glass, lips moving and mouthing something that Russell could make out as a vague and very improper way to ask when they were gonna get their asses to work, pointing with his thumb to the big three behind him. 

Russell’s eyes moved from the man to behind him, taking in the huge crowd of people that now crammed the town square. Then, to the tree, and then to the aerial ladder beside it. The fire department had been very kind to allow the use of their machinery for this foolery.  Apparently, until now, he had never realized how tall it was. And just thinking that he was going to have to climb those stairs made his skin crawl.

“Russell,” Alan’s voice called. “Get ready. We’re going out in five.”

Well, that was it. Five minutes. He had five minutes in him. Absolutely. He just had to do his work, and then that was it.

***

Those were the slowest five minutes of Russell's life. The seconds dragged on like hours, restlessness crawling up his aching back, the pain in his middle building up so fucking slowly he felt like he was about to lose his mind.

Russell also counted the number of contractions that rolled through his stomach in the meantime. Many. Way too many. Way too much for his comfort. 

Alan was leading the line. They looked like some kind of soldiers, one standing behind the other in a straight line in front of the glass doors, people roaring outside. Russell was the odd one in line, the only one that broke with the symmetry of sturdy, hunky men with his distended stomach hanging in front of him.

Outside, it looked like the town's people hadn't been seeing that damn tree for their whole life, like they hadn't been lighting it up every single year since he was born. What the camera does.

Alan took a step forward, hand closing the door handle.

The cold air hit his face when they charged outside, feeling the strain on his lower back as soon as he was in motion. Holy fuck, his feet were killing him.

It was all going very well. Too well, almost. The walk to the aerial ladder was smooth, the cheers of the people making Russell's ears ring, making his own body pulsate with the beat of the music coming through the huge audio speakers around.

Russell took a deep breath, eyes up to the sky as he stared at the ladder he had to climb.

It was all going too well. He almost got a smug feeling of satisfaction when, as soon as his fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the stairs, the people around them erupted in excitement.

One foot up, firmly planted on the step. Then the other. Up.

The first thing he felt as he started to climb up the stairs was the feeling of fabric sticking to the back of his legs. Wet fabric clinging and rubbing against the now warm and sticky skin of the back of his legs as liquid leaked down. 

His water just broke. 

Actually, his water was breaking right now; he could feel the small threads of liquid coming out of him, sliding down the inside of his legs— he tried to stop it, his body bucking on itself, but Russell's eyes went wide at the realization that he couldn't help it, that the amniotic fluid was still coming down through his inner thigh and dropping on the stairs beneath.

His head snapped to his right, finding the massive screen mounted on the building, seeing in high-quality definition the surprise creeping up his face as his own reflection in the big screen stared back at him, his swollen form clinging tightly to the rails of the stairs in front of him.

Oh, for fuck sake. This couldn’t be happening to him. His water absolutely did not just break on live TV. 

Russell forced himself to look straight ahead, to fix his gaze on the disproportionate Christmas ornaments and the sea of ​​artificial pine green. Through the corner of his eyes, he could still see his own reflection on the screen.

He forced himself to take another step up, tilted his head to the side to face the screen once again, and his eyes moved to focus on the bottom part of his body. Well, it looked like quite a ridiculous picture right now, this huge guy climbing up the stairs with a huge gravid stomach hanging low in front of him, movements clearly not fast enough for the excited crowd that chanted from beneath him.

He tried to see if his water breaking was…well, noticeable. His hips shifted, pushing past the discomfort that cruised through his body at the forced angle he had tilted his body towards the camera to see his own reflection. Russell thanked God for layering when he didn't find what he expected: a growing dark spot in his clothes where the amniotic fluid was leaking. Nothing was staining the thick fabric of his overalls. Or at least, nothing that was noticeable enough for the crowd beneath to notice or care.

He forced himself to look straight forward. He had done this same thing countless times, year after year, and not once had he felt even close to lightheaded when climbing up these stairs. Even years ago, when they definitely did not have all of this safety equipment and all the bullshit. But now he had to force himself to stare in front of him, or he would feel his head spin and his knees turn to jelly, threatening to buckle under his weight. 

He took another step. In the corner of his eye, he saw the transmission change from him to the crowd. Thank God. He thought his face was probably turning pale. And even when he knew by fact that no one could see the wetness of his clothes, that the amniotic liquid was not leaking through his overalls, he couldn’t help but feel like everyone was staring at him. He couldn’t help but feel overly conscious of the way his body was moving, of the way his hips were moving, of the way he was taking step after step just wrong. Too slow, too controlled, with his hands gripping tightly at the stairs and his body leaning forward, the swell of his stomach pressing against the metal rails in front of him with every movement. 

Russell felt like everyone down there was utterly aware that he was painfully aware of the baby's head pressing down on him, that the baby was sliding inside of him towards his birth canal, that there was pressure. Way too much pressure that wasn’t there just a few minutes ago.

Russel took another step. Nodded to himself. Barely realized that he was practically muttering to himself, speaking alone. He refused to acknowledge the futile attempt to keep himself calm. 

The pressure between his legs was growing. He could feel the weight moving down, sliding down from his hips with every step he took.

It wasn’t supposed to be this fast, was it? The logistics in his mind were supposed to allow him to get this shit done and then, just then, head to the damn hospital to push out this baby. It wasn't supposed to be feeling like this right now, like this baby was just minutes away from falling out of him.

He had time. He had time. He just had to hurry, and then voilà, he could go.

He just had to get up there. Plug in the damn thing.

He took another step up. His eyes hovered down. Beneath him, the people were still chanting and becoming smaller and smaller as he climbed up. Russell thought he could see Alan down there, next to the fire truck, giving him a thumbs up. 

On the big screen, the cameramen zoomed in on the toothless grin of a kid who waved their gloved hands to the camera, the moving numbers of the countdown blinking in colorful flashes in front of the faces of the people.

“Fuck…nhgb…” Russell moaned, his body freezing. 

His fingers tightened around the rails of the stairs; one of his legs was stiff on the upper step, the other on the lower one. The muscles of his distended abdomen tightened, sending fire through his lower back. The way his stomach was pressing against the security harness, the fabric tight and compressing, made him feel trapped. Oh, that couldn't be a good sign. Russell sucked in a breath, the palms of his hands pressing harder against the cold metal. 

The countdown blinked in the corner of his eyes. On the speakers, one of the TV presenters who was covering the live transmission said something that made the whole crowd scream in excitement. Russell let out a moan of his own when he felt the sound vibrating through his whole body. 

“Nhgnng…!” He hissed, forcing himself to go up. “Wait. Just wait.”

He wasn't sure who he was talking to. If the baby inside of him or his body or the clock on the screen, as if he could somehow magically put a pause to all this. Oh, how he wished he could press a pause button and then just get down from here. He would get a cab and unpause right at the front door of a damn hospital.  

But he couldn't. The sound of the governor's voice through the speaker reminded him of that. The man had started his speech, and now the people's attention was no longer on the tree, but it also meant that he had to hurry. 

Russell kept moving up. He was almost there, about to reach the platform he had to hop in when he felt it. It happened from one moment to the other, the sudden feeling of a weight dropping inside of him, as if a bowling ball had just sunk on his pelvis. He felt the baby’s head starting to move down. 

His eyes went wide. A trickle of amniotic fluid burst out of him, sliding down his legs again. When he looked down, the view of the small droplets falling into the void beneath made a wave of something crash on his body at the view: anxiety or nausea or something that made his head spin and made him suddenly aware of the way his clothes were clinging to his sweaty, hot body, thick fabric weighing down on him.

Down there, the governor was still talking on. Something about the importance of tradition and something about the huge tree and something about community.

Russell wasn’t listening. All he could focus on right now was the feeling of his body heating up, the sweat dripping down his back and pooling at his waist, the way the fabric of his work overalls seemed to tighten against the curve of his gravid stomach, how the security harness seemed to dig against his contracting muscles.

Shit. This couldn’t be happening. He still had time.

His fingers tightened around the stair rails, and Russel looked up. Biting his lip, he forced himself to move his legs and get on the platform. It was a pitiful show, and thank God the cameras weren’t on him, because it was almost pathetic how long it took him to finish straightening himself up once he reached the top.

His legs trembled slightly as he steadied himself on the platform. His hands moved immediately to cup the underside of his stomach, almost as if he could take off the weight of the baby moving down inside of him by lifting the gravid mound. It didn’t work; if anything, it made everything feel even worse.

A contraction took over his stomach when he heard the people clapping. They were done, right? All he had to do was turn around and plug the damn thing in.

He looked down, his posture stiffening as he tried to focus on something else but the sharp, uncomfortable pain in his stomach. Beneath, the people moved and clapped and screamed like a small swarm of bees, minuscule and irrelevant. The governor’s face smiled and waved on the big screen. The countdown was still going on.

He felt the baby move lower. 

“No…” Russel moaned, his face slowly turning into a grimace. “No. No…”

His hands pressed harder against the taut surface of his stomach, feeling the hard muscles tensing and shifting even over the fabric of his clothes. The surprise in his face wasn’t because of the sudden sharp pain taking over his middle, it was because he could feel in real time the huge head of his baby moving down inside of him, slowly inching down his birth canal, and he couldn’t stop it. His whole body was a tense mess as he tried and failed spectacularly to keep it from happening, all of his muscles clenched, but nothing was happening. He couldn’t stop his own body from pushing the baby down.

Russel forced himself to breathe. It was fine. Everything was okay. He had time. He still had time. 

He was sure that now the governor was going to finally do what he did best, say some corny shit, and then disappear to let them do their work. But just when Russel thought there was going to be a final period on the governor's discourse, the man kept going.

Oh, God.

Russell let his hips shift, slightly gyrating in place, fingers tapping against the railing of the platform. His eyes drifted from the people down, towards the tree in front of him. Up, where the damn tree continued for a few meters, the huge star placed on top. He had to admit, it was impressive even when turned off. 

Between his legs, the cable responsible for making the show a show, was carelessly left on the floor of the platform. Russel moved, took one slow step forward, and then let his body bend over to pick up the cable.

Shit. Bad idea. 

“Oh, god…hgn!” he tried to suppress the moan that escaped his lips, his whole body trembling when he felt it. 

The baby's head slid lower inside him as soon as he bent over. He felt it; it was like a huge ball that was starting to stretch him over from the inside out, and he couldn’t fucking believe it. Fucking hell, he couldn’t fucking believe it. This was not supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to go this fast, was it? It was supposed to be hours after his water broke before this baby was even trying to move out, right?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Russell breathed, another gasp bursting from his lips. He was frozen in place, the cable still hanging between his fingers. He could feel the pressure between his legs starting to turn into pain that would seep through his hips, through the bones of his pelvis as they opened around the head. He couldn't move. It felt like any movement was not good, like if he moved to the right, left, up, or down, anything that happened would just make the pressure worse. 

Oh, this baby was ready.  This fucking baby was ready.

He swallowed, letting one of his hands tighten around the fabric of his overalls that stretched down the curve of his belly, tugging at it in a vain attempt to get the tight sensation to ease. He couldn't stand the feeling of the security harness pressing against the tense surface of his stomach, against the strained muscles of his lower back.

Maybe he should have asked for one in a bigger size.

He turned to look at the big screen.

Oh, fuck no. The camera was on him again, a weird angle that showed him zoomed in from behind, half hidden by the platform he was standing on.

Russell bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to stand straight. Well, as straight as he could.

Bad idea. The feeling of the baby’s head lodged deep in his pelvis came crashing down on him as soon as he resumed a standing position, or tried to stand straight, his legs now almost bowed and spread wide, body leaning slightly forward.

He felt like he had to push.

Russell saw his own face turn into a grimace of pain as another contraction took over him. He was there, seeing his stoicism drain from his body in live national television as the governor continued with his stupid speech, and this baby continued to move down.

Another contraction. His hand tightened around the cord in his hand. Russell had to bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood to keep himself from panicking when he felt the burn spread through his lower body, when he felt his ass start to spread open around the tip of the head, his legs trembling. Oh, fuck, even when all of his efforts were on keeping this baby inside of him, he couldn’t stop the head from moving lower, he couldn’t stop his own dilated hole from starting to split open, the skin around his anus burning. 

Fuck. Fuck. This wasn’t happening.

“Fuck!” Russel whimpered, his nails digging against the fabric of his overalls when another contraction took over him, when he felt the head pressing down, threatening to stretch him even more open. “Hurry up, fucking piece of shit…!”

He thought that the governor couldn't possibly go on for long, but every single word that came out of the man’s voice seemed to drag on longer and longer. This guy did not run out of stupid things to say. Russel blinked, the tears starting to prickle in his eyes, a mix of the sudden desperation that washed over him for this bullshit to be over now and the cold wind hitting his face.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, these overalls were way too tight on him. He couldn’t have bothered to get anything in a bigger size, right?

It wasn't the feeling of needing to push that was taking over his body; it was an urge his own body was taking into its own hands to make it happen. The pressure was growing with the head nestled between his legs, trying to force its way out. His own body was telling him that he had to push. Not like it was giving him any other chance as his hole stretched around the head even against his will.

There was just so much pressure. So much pressure.

Why on earth was the camera still on him? He could see his own face trying to remain neutral.

His body trembled when he panted, letting himself lean forward and against the railing of the platform, his hips rolling slowly in the air. The people didn’t even seem to mind him on the big screen, or rather, to them, it just looked like a bored, fat worker who was sick of his work.

For him he was trying anything to relieve the pressure growing between his legs, trying to ignore the feeling of the fabric rubbing and pressing against the tight, uncomfortable surface of his stomach. 

Oh, he had to push. There was so much pressure. Just a small push to help relieve the pressure. Just that. Just a tiny push. 

Russell moved one of his hands from the railing to his face, blocking it from the view of the public. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and let his face twist into a grimace of pain, the warmth of his breath bouncing against the open palm of his hand.

From down there, it probably just looked like he was just yawning.

Up there, Russell had to bite the pad of his hand to avoid a scream when he felt the head making its way down, his asshole stretching open around it even more. God, this was not what he wanted. It was supposed to be just a small push, not this.

His head snapped up. In the big screen, he saw his own reflection, his face red and sweat dropping down his zoomed-in forehead. He hadn’t realized how awkwardly he had been standing. Russell cleared his throat and pushed against the platform railing to straighten himself up.

His body trembled, muscles spasming and jerking when the head pushed even further down. He felt the huge girth stretching him whole, the tip of the head pushing outside of him.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. This couldn’t be happening.

The burn that spread through his middle and through his ass made him moan out loud, fingers gripping at the fabric of his coveralls when they moved to grip at his belly. Another contraction, another wave of the urge to push, his legs trembling as the swollen and red skin of his asshole stretched open by the head.

“No,” he huffed, eyes darting between the countdown and his own reflection on the screen. “Please no. Not now.”

The countdown was coming dangerously close to zero. Just when things couldn’t possibly get any worse, the governor finally fell silent. Russell thought he heard his name—or Alan’s—called somewhere over the roar of the enraged crowd that had formed. Ridiculous—they were acting crazy over the same tree they saw every day. He thought he heard the governor saying something about how it was now his turn to turn the damn tree, but he wasn’t sure. All he could focus on was the feeling of the head burning, stretching him open, the pressure of the baby trying to force its way out of him, the small trickles of amniotic liquid that wet the fabric of his underwear.

He was sure that now everyone could definitely see a wet patch starting to form against the fabric of his overalls if—when he turned around, because now he had to turn around and pick up the damn cable that had fallen from his hands.

He could do this. He so could do this. He just had to bend over, pick the cord, and plug it in. 

That was easy. He could do that. He just had to—

“Nhgnhngn, fuck…!” Russel hissed, one of his hands moving to press against the side of his contracting stomach, the other to hold himself steady by the rail of the platform. “Mhm…!”

Beneath him, the people were still cheering, utterly unaware that he was probably seconds away from crowning with his damn baby in his pants. He sure felt like he was about to crown.

The countdown on the TV was coming close to zero. Russel swallowed. Forced himself to turn towards where the plug was. The cameraman moved from him to the tree, finally.

“Ughn…..!” Once his face was not in the middle of a damn huge screen, Russell let himself lose a bit of his composure and let out a wail when the pressure washed over him again.

His legs trembled as he forced himself to move. Get to work. He could feel the tip of the baby’s head pushing against his underwear, bulging his hole as his body forced it out.

He just had to hold it in. Plug the damn cord in.

He took another step. Leaned forward to plug the cord in. 

His body trembled as soon as people started cheering, the round of applause filling the air. On the big screen, the clock began flashing the countdown at ten. Ten seconds before it hit zero. Russell let out a loud moan when another contraction took over him, the cord in his hands shaking, his body jerking, and his knees almost buckling beneath him when he felt the head sliding out of him. 

His body was pushing — he himself was pushing. He was pushing, and he could feel how the head was starting to crown in his clothes, pressing against his underwear, starting to bulge against the fabric of his overalls.

Oh, fuck, the damn overalls.

“Ten…” people started to scream in unison.

He had to take these clothes off. At least the damn overalls.

One of his hands moved fast and clumsily around his security harness, trying to locate the damn clasp. He couldn’t find it, fumbling around the sturdy fabric, trying to keep himself from collapsing and from pushing. On the other hand, the cable remained steady.

“Nine!” 

His stomach tensed. His face went pale when he felt the head moving down another centimeter. He felt the fabric starting to strain, forced to accommodate the head popping out of him. 

“Eight!”

Russell looked up. He tilted to find the big screen, eyes scanning the view of the tree, his body on a small corner, hunched over on the platform. 

“Seven!”

The cord trembled in his hand. He moved —crawled, almost— forward, moving it closer to the outlet. His other hand was still scrambling, tugging desperately at the fabric of his overalls. He tried to move his arm back, pulling at the strained fabric on the back of his body, fingers brushing over the bulge where the head was crowning in his clothes. 

“Six!”

“Ugnhgb…!” Russell moaned, his hands twitching at his sides. “Oh, god. It's coming…it's coming out…!”

Five. 

Four.

Three.

His stomach contracted, the tense, pulsating muscles of his burning middle pressing against the tight fabric of his clothing. His free hand moved again over the buckle of the harness. He tugged once. Twice. This was a safety hazard, but the pressure of his hole stretched wide around the head of the baby… he needed out. This baby needed out. 

“Two!”

People cheered. Russell let out a guttural moan when he finally managed to unclasp the buckle of the harness, and he felt his own stomach dropping slightly, a long breath escaping his mouth as the pressure on his stomach eased for a second before another contraction took over him. 

“One…!”

There was a moment of expectant silence in the crowd. Russell leaned forward, yanking the cord to plug it into the outlet. For a moment, all he could hear was the sound of his own ragged breath beneath the hum of electricity. Then, the shining light of the star and the hundreds of lights scattered around the tree almost blinded him with a hundred flashing colors.

The people down there erupted in applause.

“Ughnn…!” Russell moaned. 

His body was pushing. A wail escaped his throat when he felt the head popping out of him, sliding out of him with a gush of amniotic fluid, and now he was really, really sure that there was no way to dissimulate the bulge growing on the back of his pants, the stained wet fabric where the baby’s head was pressing against it, now fully out and stuck against the overall’s fabric. Russell let out a scream, his body spasming when, again, another contraction forced him to push involuntarily. It didn't do anything; the head was stuck and didn’t budge against the sturdy fabric. 

Down there, the excited murmur of the crowd had turned into an eerie silence.

Not that Russell could really think about anything else but the feeling of having the huge head of his baby stretching open constantly, unable to move without feeling the fabric of his own work overalls slightly pushing the head back inside with every movement. A low moan escaped his lips when he forced himself to take a deep breath and bite the pain away as he let his hands wander over his own body again. Now that he didn't have to care about that stupid tree, he could look down at himself.

His fingers found the zip of the overalls just as another contraction took over his body. Another grunt escaped his lips as his fingers tightened around the zip, his free hand tugging at the fabric, trying to give himself any more space to push.

The audience had grown totally quiet. 

“Hgbn…come on…!” Russell moaned as the contraction finally eased, pulling down the zipper of his overalls. “Ughnhn...!”

Just in the small space that unzipping had given him, the head slid out a bit more. Another moan escaped his lips. Now that the fabric was loose, Russell straightened himself up, knees trembling, and barely managed to tug at the fabric to pull it down past his hips before another contraction took over him. 

He still had his undershirt on, the fabric sticking to the hot, damp skin of his shivering body when the cold air hit him. The fabric of his overalls pooled around his hips. He was probably gonna catch a cold, but it really didn’t matter as Russel whimpered, fingers finding the waistband of his underwear.

The only sound he could hear was his own breath, ragged and fast, as he pulled his underwear down, exposing the head that dangled between his legs. Russell's body didn't give him a break before the urge to push was taking over him again, the cold air biting the hot skin of his stomach. Russell leaned forward, his hands moving to rest on his own thighs as he bent over, dropping into a half squat as he pushed.

His body tensed, and the shoulders slid out of him with a gush of amniotic fluid. 

The burn of the head stretching him open was replaced by the uncomfortable pressure of the shoulders. Russell looked up, blinking twice before he turned to his side, his jaw dropping when he saw the damn screen. Russell saw himself hunched, the baby half-dangling outside of him, streaming on live television for God knows how many people.

The sounds of a siren broke the unnerving silence of the people fathered beneath, who now stared with wide eyes at the image over their heads. The tree was long forgotten.

Russell let out a moan, spreading his legs even further apart as he reached between them to catch his baby's head. The little bundle of joy slid when his body forced him to push again and into his arms.

Russel breathed. The small wriggly thing in his arms cried. He held the baby close to his chest, rushing to cover it with his own clothing to protect it from the cold. His heart thumped in his chest as he tilted his head, staring at his own reflection in the monitor.

Well, that was sure going to spike the ratings. Someone, down there, started clapping, almost hesitantly. Soon, the rest of the crowd followed.