#implied stuffing

Leona just smiled wider. The tips of his sharp, white teeth now flickered in the fading daylight. He chuckled and finished off his soda, then belched again and scratched his stomach. “BLLLLUUUURRRRRLLLLLGP…phew…damn, that was a deep one,” he mumbled, wiping his jowls on the back of one tattooed arm. “I could actually feel it bubbling in my gut…” You bit your lip, blushing even more. You glanced between the lion and the soda you, yourself, carried. You had almost a full can left.

You weren’t sure why…but suddenly, impulsively, you threw your head back…and - GLUG, GLUG, GLUG - began to chug down your drink. Your brow knitted and you groaned slightly between gollops as you swallowed it as fast as you could. You could actually feel the gases building inside your own belly, which let out an almost rebellious bellow, not used to you feeding it so much carbonation so quickly. Leona’s eyes widened slightly, and his smile fell, as he watched you with some interest. Then, he nearly jolted as you pulled away the can from your lips…gasped…and then… “BWWWAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOUUUUUUUURRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUP!” You panted as the unusually gigantic belch left your body. You were VERY red in the face as you gave Leona a weak but defiant sort of smile. He simply looked at you with absolute amazement, clearly stunned. “Well?” you checked, as you finally caught your breath, a little flicker of anxiety in your eyes. “How was that, Mr. Gas Giant, huh?” Leona blinked three times…then his expression cooled. An amused, affectionate sort of look came to his face, and he chuckled aloud, the sound clucking in his throat. “Gotta admit, Herbivore, that was impressive,” he said, honestly, and offered a slow clap. “I’ll make a real animal outta you yet, if yer gonna start lettin’ roars like that rip.” You couldn’t help but feel a sort of crude, infantile pride at his praise, and held your head high as you puffed out your chest and crushed the now empty soda can in one hand. In typical expectation, the center of the can was now pressed flat, while the top and the bottom retained their cylindrical rotundity, giving it a sort of hourglass shape. Your smile soon fell, however, when - after doing so - Leona looked at the can in your hand and smirked wider, a slightly devious expression upon his sharp, tanned face. He pointed to the crushed soda container in your grip. “That the best you got?” he asked. You looked at the can, then back up at him…and frowned. “Why?” was all you asked, slowly and cautiously. Leona just snorted softly through his nose - like a lion chuffing at their mate’s affections - and rolled his eyes before positioning his own empty can between his two hands. At first, it seemed he was about to flatten it between his palms like a pile-driver… …Then, he paused, and a lightbulb seemed to go off over his head. His rope-like tail switched upwards and curved into a question mark shape…and he laughed softly, almost ominously. Not sure what he was up to, all you could do was watch…and your eyes widened as he moved himself around, teasingly bending over a bit…his plush, plump, fat bottom now plainly visible. He petted one of his soft, thick cheeks with one hand through the fabric of his denim jeans…then his voice slithered into your ears… “We still alone?” he whispered, in a dulcet way. You gulped nervously, glanced about carefully, then nodded to indicate you were. “Good,” Leona winked…and then cautiously moved the hem of his pants down, underwear and all. Now, his wobbling cheeks overflowed past his trousers, mooning you as day changed to twilight.

“Gentle, gentle, darlin’,” Boothill huffs from his position lying before Argenti, his tummy groaning and creaking beneath the knight’s palm. Although he can’t truly feel how stuffed full he is, the frequency of his sensors going off is enough to give him a passable impression of how it should feel. 

It’s in that distant sort of way where they can’t precisely replicate the feelings pressed by entirely organic nerves, but still give enough of a ‘feeling’ for him to perceive with his past experience and memories.

He shuts his eyes at a particularly harsh, scraping groan, absentmindedly moving one hand to rest against his rounded middle. Compared to its usual state, the term definitely applies — even if it, compared to wholly organic bodies, is not very different from a typical belly’s size. Cybernetics and the lesser need for internal organs, he supposes. Not that he’s an expert on that stuff.

“Of course, my dear cowboy.” Boothill feels Argenti’s hand press against his for a couple of seconds before the other moves back to rubbing the doubtlessly cold metal of his abdomen. He can tell that edges occasionally catch along seam lines, in minuscule tugs that thankfully don’t upset the presently iffy balance of his internals.

He reopens his eyes when a warmth is pressed against his forehead — Argenti’s lips, he finds. Tilting his head up slightly, he uses his previously free hand to catch a wisp of the other’s silken soft hair. Though, he doesn’t do anything more than hold it, as his eyes are caught and held by a pale green that reminds him of nobles’ fancy jewelry pieces, that is the color of the knight’s very own pair of eyes.

Well, caught until a slight increase in pressure around what should be his navel has the plates creaking tightly mere seconds before a short, quiet burp takes him by surprise.

“‘Genti, that’s not really, hah, gentle-” He chuckles marginally, slipping into a sort of breathless, exasperated huff when Argenti silences him with another actually gentle kiss, this time right upon his lips.

“You’re so beautiful, beloved,” Argenti murmurs the moment he pulls away, clearly unable to keep his own lips shut on the matter for very long. At first, Boothill had ardently denied words like those — he’s one of the furthest things from ‘beautiful’, after all — but, well, it’s a bit difficult to keep denying something that’s said with such pure honesty multiple times each day. Doesn’t mean he completely believes it, of course — just that he doesn’t entirely disbelieve it anymore.

He willingly shifts his head into the knight’s palm when it comes wandering near his face, softly exhaling at the overall pleasant sensation of both the feeling and warmth of skin-on-skin contact. Just about the only area he can truly feel contact-based warmth from anymore, yet he will likely always publicly deny how much he craves its continuation. Privately, though, he’d prefer to refuse to let go for as long as possible.

“And you’re a tease.”

Generally compliant as he is now, Boothill doesn’t resist at all when Argenti interlaces the fingers of their parallel hands together. He just merely sighs and readjusts, pulling a leg closer to his torso with but a soft groan as the culmination of movement reminds him of his internals’ current state. “Don’ know why I thought letting you do that would feel any fudging different than previous times.”

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” Argenti inquires softly, a tinge of worry furrowing its way into his facial expression as the pads of his interlaced fingers dance along Boothill’s knuckles.

“Never really — it’s just… a bit uncomfortable, I’d say.”

“Well that’s little good, now,” Argenti’s worried expression only eases a bit with the other’s response, and he pulls his interlaced hand away to once again gently rub at Boothill’s belly.

Boothill himself releases the strands of Argenti’s hair that he had caught before, just to drop his hand carefully upon the crest of his tummy with a light exhale. It really isn’t anything more than an uncomfortable feeling, and besides that he has been slowly getting used to the sensation of being… fuller than he usually is, on the occasion that Argenti requests for a little indulgence, as the Knight likes to call the moments.

“Beautiful,” Argenti murmurs again, with reverence that it sometimes feels like is exclusively for his goddess and Boothill himself, and the galaxy ranger shudders through his systems as he distantly feels the other press his fingers gently against his full belly once more in some semblance of a soothing motion.

Rather than pay attention to what he can feel with his eyes as well, Boothill presses his face as close as is physically possible for him to the hand of Argenti’s that is still cupping one portion of his head.

Though it would burn him to admit it to possibly anyone else, he mumbles something along the lines of “Don’t stop” into Argenti’s palm.