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Hennessy Marquillo

Chapter 14: So Good, October 10th

Summary:

Max will probably never stop having horrendous diarrhea until he stops living like he lives. But Hennessy takes it way too far and puts his life in danger.

Notes:

Long time no see, eh? Gonna try and finish this one up.

Chapter Text

Hennessy knew what he was about to do to Max was wrong, worse than wrong. But Hennessy was six months pregnant with his child, and Max had been fucking his best friend. He would sort out his own relationship with KyJuan later. Right now, he only wanted Max’s demise. They were ‘on a walk’ through Max’s estate, the rolling fields near the school sometimes used for gentleman’s sports and benefactors dinners that was right now the backdrop for backshots. Max had been getting high while Hennessy was collecting clam specimens by the golf lake, and they found each other quite romantically. 

He played nice for an hour or so. He knew that Max had been sleeping around and finally caught him in the act. Max’s cabin was practically falling down, he was railing this guy so hard, not that Henny had gone walking through the woods and snooped by it just to see. Now he was bent over the hood of a golf cart taking backshots, and Max was getting close to finishing. He’d have the munchies soon. 

After destroying Hennessy’s jeans with cum stains, Max stumbled to a bench and hit the blunt he’d left there again. He was clearly not in a good mental state. Maybe the guilt was eating him. Regardless, Hennessy suggested they order delivery, and Max was as enthusiastic as any pothead. Hennessy ordered enough food for Max to get stuffed, which was more these days, and fed it to him lovingly; the perfect doting baby daddy. Unbenounced to Max, every single taco and fry was dusted with laxative. And it was starting to kick in. He shifted uncomfortably. 

“You okay, Maxy? You stuffed, want a belly rub?” 

The man grimaced and rubbed his lower side. “No, I'm alright.”

“Okay.” Hennessy snuggled against his arm and started to strike up one of his usual conversations about invertebrates, his specialty. 

“Can we stop talking about insects, please? You’re freaking me out.” 

“Fine.” He huffed. “Tell me about your campaign against becoming a cabinet member on your dad’s board, how’s that going?” 

“It’s going fine, of course it is. He told me--ooh…” Max rubbed his stomach. “I shouldn’t have eaten so much. I already stuffed today… I feel sick.” 

“You did?” 

“I ate six servings of pancakes and a milkshake and a dozen eggs, almost.” 

“Max, that’s awful.” 

“Had the munchies.” 

“You already got high today?” 

“You really have no idea what my life is like, do you?” 

“W-well tell me, then. What’s it like?” 

“It’s s--fuck, my insides. My stomach aches like hell, Hennessy, help me up.” 

After helping Max up, Hennessy had to assist him walking back toward his house. His stomach was churning, loud and clear, sick deep down to it’s core. All Max could do was belch and cradle it. His bloating eventually caused him to undo his belt, and the reaction in his lower digestive system was predictably awful. Max realized with horror that a group of golfers was walking up the path, so shaking, had Hennessy pull him along, his lower stomach distending with indigestion. With ass clenched, he waddled along, burping and forcing himself not to relieve himself of the pressure with a herd of golfers moving unpredictably across the green. Hennessy kept them moving, occasionally covering Max’s distress with a cough or a forced laugh, as if he were having an animated and comical conversation with the man whose face looked as pale, green, and agonized as could be. 

Max’s gut groaned loudly, bloating and swelling with digestive hell, as Max grew more sweaty and desperate, eventually pulling Hennessy aside and begging him to make it stop. 

“I can’t, Max, I don’t know what to do! What if you’re really in trouble?” Max clutched his underbelly and cried out in distress. 

“You can’t feel what I feel, Hennessy, it feels like my insides are ripping themselves apart!” He pushed his sweaty hair back. “Fuck! I don’t know what happened!” 

“C’mon, we’re close now. Only a little while before you’re home.” 

Hennessy pulled Max along, ignoring the intestines’ audible protest. As they began the ascent up Max’s back driveway, the man clutched his belly and doubled over. “Oh god no.” 

“What?” 

“Something’s happened. I can’t move. Hennessy, I can’t move another inch.” 

“Why, Max?” 

“There is so much bloating me that it’s touching my prostate. I’m hard.” 

“Don’t look now, but we have people behind us. Stand up.” A group of golfers walked into the field house and Max and Hennessy pretended to be engaged in a heated argument to dissuade interaction, then as soon as the door shut, Max belched like a whale. 

“Henny, I can’t go inside. They’ll hear me.” Hennessy looked around. 

“How about the shed? You can make it 300 yards to the shed.” 

“I’m telling you I am rock hard. Don’t look.” Hennessy did look, and Max’s curved cock was pressing against his pants. He touched it, and Max cried out. 

“Fuck! I’ll bust--” 

Inside the shed, Max threw off his pants and Henny took in the truly insane amount of bloating going on inside his lower belly stuffed with unvoided poop. He sat on the edge of a flower box and moaned. 

“My belly is so sick!” He bent over and belched. “How can I not be able to shit now?” His penis dripped and Hennessy touched it. 

“Would getting rid of this help?” 

“Fuck, my insides ache, Hennessy. Anything getting out of me would help.” Henny slowly began to pump Max’s cock, feeling the man’s full body trembling as just as the precum started to flow faster, his inner gut gurgled, sending ripples down his fat, jiggly stomach. 

“I’m about to--ohgod--” Max clutched his sides and moaned, his belly slowly un-constipating as the second wave of stuffing filled his gut and pressed the overstuffed intestines to their limit. Poo flexed against his butthole and Hennessy kept jacking him off. 

“It feels so good. It feels so good, I just need to void it and then I can cum, but I don’t know why it’s not coming out--I feel like I’m about to explode. My bloated belly is just so sick it doesn’t know what it wants to do. What happened to me, Hennessy? I was fine and then all of a sudden, agony.” 

Max grunted and groaned and precame for fifteen minutes in the shed, but the diarrhea had blocked up somehow, so they snuck him in the back of the house, with his pants undone around his roiling, sick gut. Walking to the farthest bathroom near the ballroom, Max got a weird look on his face. 

“Taco Bell always has a delayed effect with me. Always makes me feel gassy.” He touched his navel. “I don’t feel so good. Oh no. It’s--” He gazed down in horror and pulled up his shirt as his stomach started to rumble. He raised his eyes to Hennessy, wide with fear. “I-- I think it’s about to start--” 

Harsh gas doubled Max over at the waist, and Hennessy grabbed his arm and pulled him down the hall, around the corner, into a cleaner’s closet as Max threw off his pants and started to beeline for a bucket. He moaned, filling up the pail before dragging himself to the trash can, where he clutched his waist fat and cried out with distress. Hennessy felt guilt creeping up his throat, but swallowed it down. He could never tell Max the part he had in this hell. Max threw his head back and yelled with aching pain, the diarrhea burning in his asshole as it shot out of his body in a gush that refused to pause. 

“My stomach is sick, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with it--” Max gasped, clutching it with one hand and the trashcan with the other. “I didn’t even know there was this much inside of it, I guess stuffing last night on bread wasn’t such a good idea either. I was so hungry all week, I guess it kicked me. But now--all that’s gone--” He gasped and farted. “And pancakes and taco bell are half liquid.” He hunched over and moved to another receptacle, a plastic bin. “I think I’m gonna be here for a while, Hennessy. Go home.” 

“I can’t leave you, Max. I-I- hurt you.” 

“It doesn’t matter, Hennessy, I’m not mad at you any more. Keep the baby, I don’t care! Gah–fuck, my stomach.” He coughed and sobbed, sweat dripping down his face by his ear as his stomach boiled and gurgled. Hennessy could see he was in actual agony by the silence that lasted almost an hour, and the way he stared at the ground while his intestines squirmed and voided. He gasped intermittently, and grit his teeth with a repressed moan when it got really bad. Hennessy tried to confess to poisoning him again, but Max still didn’t catch his drift. 

“No, it’s not about that. I hurt you today, when we were walking around. I was mad at you for having sex with Ky, and that’s why I let you fuck me and got you food–” 

“Hennessy, I know you think it’s important cause you’re hormonal, but it’s not. Please stop talking. Oh god, I think I’m gonna throw up.” He hung his head and belched wetly. “No, not again, not again.” He moaned. Hennessy looked surprised. Max had been throwing up regularly? 

He stitched up and heaved, throat bubbling stickily, but the expulsion was just burping and a small scream as his colon contracted. 

“I think I’m really sick, man, can you get my housekeeper?” Max panted, eyes brimming with tears. 

“Max, I’m not sure you want me to do that, I mean look at this place, there’s a bucket of shit.” 

“I don’t know what to do, Henny!” He whined, leaning back and panting as a log of packed shit began to stretch his hole. “I feel like I’m getting torn apart. I’m so hot, I can barely see. I’m dizzy as all hell, dude, am I dying?” 

“No, no, you’re not dying!” Hennessy cried, with zero confidence. “That’s ridiculous. You’re having a hard time, but a person who’s dying doesn’t talk as much as you do.” He reassured. Max’s tears started to fall, and Hennessy’s heart broke. 

“Promise?” 

Henny nodded, throat closed with guilt. Max groaned and forced the turd out of him, which landed in the bin with a plop. Max groaned with disgust and hiccupped as something climbed up his throat. He prickled, and Hennessy dove forward with a cardboard box. 

Max flung forward and projectile puked into the box, hands slipping on the plastic bin and sending him almost down into it until at the last second he lurched forward, hurling with force. 

Henny reasoned he must be done with the runs, and gently cleaned his bare ass with a clorox wipe found in one of the cabinets before pulling up his pants and stroking his hair. Max clutched the box as his stomach twisted, sending yellow, foul liquid up his throat while he coughed and strained, shoulders tight with tension. Hennessy shushed. 

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay, Maxy. You’re okay. It’s almost over now. Almost out.” He locked the secret of his medical sabotage into the ‘Never Tell’ section of his brain and turned to a doting boyfriend again, though his boyfriend he was not. “It’ll be okay, Maximus, just breathe. Lean on me, here.” 

Henny slung Max’s arm around his shoulder and held up the weak and weakening man while the vomit turned to dry heaves of pink slime and white chunks. Max stopped seizing with pain and slumped to the shoulder offered. 

“There there,” Hennessy whispered, stroking the shadow of a beard. “Better?” Max mumbled something Hennessy couldn’t hear, and he asked him to repeat it. “Hm? What did you say?” Max didn’t respond. “Maxy?” Henny chanced a look at his lover’s face, and found the tan skin sheet white. “Max. Maximus. Maximus Cruz.” He turned and tried to shake the man awake to no avail. 

“Maximus you gotta wake up for me. Max?” His heart started to pound and he looked at the door, then looked around. He couldn’t leave Max here. He couldn’t carry him out six months pregnant and six inches shorter. He couldn’t ask anyone to come in here and see the way he’d left it. It was a lose, lose, lose. 

“Max, I’m gonna lay you down.” 

Henny was an invertebrate biologist, how different could the human body be? Laying Max limp on the floor, he turned his head to the side and opened his mouth. Still breathing, good. His heart was beating very hard, and his skin was cold. The only thing to do was soothe him and wait. Hennessy stroked his chest and hair and breathed cool breath on his forehead until with a wince, Max started to rouse. 

“Max? Come back, babe, you’re okay. I’m here.” Hennessy leaned over the man’s face as his bleary eyes opened and his brow furrowed. 

“I feel like I got run over by a truck.” 

“You don’t look much better.” 

“My head hurts like a bitch.” 

“I bet. You got really sick all of a sudden. I think it was food poisoning.” 

“Yeah, probably. That’s what it seemed like.” Max sat up slowly, and Hennessy watched in silence. His upper body swayed unsteadily and he pressed a hand to his forehead. “I don’t feel good at all, man.” 

“You should go up to your room and rest.” 

“Yeah.” Max prepared to climb to his feet, but glanced over at his baby daddy. “Thanks, man. It’s a shame we turned out like this, huh?” He gestured to Hennessy’s pregnancy and stood. “I’ll see you.” 

Leaving the door open, they both left, Max with his hand wrapped around his stomach, leaning against the wall as he began to make his way upstairs to his bed. Hennessy went out to his car, where he’d stashed the clam’s he’d collected before they found one another. It was relayed to him later than Max collapsed outside the door to his room and was rushed to the hospital, his blood sugar dropped below survivable levels, and his internal body temperature past fever. His lab work revealed more than cannabis and laxatives, there was trace psychedelics like Ecstacy and a decent amount of Xanax. 

Being the Provost’s son, that wasn’t allowed to get past the housekeeper Hennessy had befriended because they were from the same place in Mexico and relied on for all Max related gossip. He was slightly relieved. The fiasco wasn’t all his fault. Max needed to see a specialist. Now, hopefully, he’d get the help he was long overdue for in rehab.

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