Traffic is at a standstill for now while I watch Rats 2: Big in Paris. And speaking of big: barely 10 minutes into The Lore and Ren just out of nowhere goes "you are rather plump, aren't you" at Martyn. And then Martyn going on about how that's just how it is in Paris, with all the pastries etc.
WHAT IS HAPPENING TODAYYY. First we had the G/tpocalypse of new Life Series, and now this... I am being spoiled. Stuffed with delightful tidbits and treats that tickle all my tastes on this blog. 🥰😳 Hell yeah.
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The Red King’s favorite past time is laying his head on his right hand man’s tummy after a grand feast to just listen to all the food crammed in there (loudly) digest away 💕
His loyal hand doesn’t quite understand why his king enjoys the noises so much, but still does his best to make the best experience possible for his king - even if it means eating too much of something he knows will upset his tummy on purpose.
Eating fruit on a full belly is supposed to be not great for the digestion— and if I remember correctly Dog.warts is in a spruce biome... which means sweetberries are readily available as a post-banquet snack for Martyn to keep nibbling on. Perfect for keeping the gurgles going long after his stomach should've settled from the large meal.
After the delicious but heavy savoury stews and grilled meats so typical of the Dog.warts table, the refreshing sweetness is a welcome change of pace— and the plump berries are so very easy to mindlessly eat 🤤 When they're on patrol Martyn often finds himself polishing off a stack of them without even noticing; even now, with his stomach packed tight enough that he's having a little trouble breathing, the fruit goes down with no trouble at all.
Hghffbvfjfvjhgnhh... Treebark feeding each other berries so so intimately. Ren needing to stretch his arm further over Martyn's belly to reach his mouth, reluctant to change his position so he can stay with his head pressed to Martyn's churning stomach. Martyn's face is flushed the same shade as the berries, the metal of Ren's crown cool against the exposed skin where his shirt has ridden up, feeling so blissfully warm from the five courses filling his belly and the intensity of his King's gaze meeting his own. Ren shifts, sitting a little straighter to pluck a berry from the bowl, and Martyn tracks his King's movements through half-lidded eyes, eager for the next burst of sweetness on his tongue.
The fruit is pressed to his mouth and Martyn accepts it, sighing at the taste and chasing the retreating fingers with a kiss. Ren stiffens, uncertain for a moment, before moving to gently cup the side of Martyn's head with one hand, stroking his thumb across the other man's cheek. As Ren reaches for another berry he fumbles with the bowl, unable to tear his eyes away from his Hand, utterly transfixed by the bob of Martyn's adam's apple as he swallows and hums contentedly.
Their fingers are sticky. Their lips are stained with crimson juice. I need to be put down.
