#softly writes

Astarion nestled himself into Gale’s soft chest as much as he could, nuzzling him with his cheek. “I prepared breakfast for you.”

“Wonderful,” Gale replied, burying his face in Astarion’s hair.

The vampire smiled, knowing that Gale would not be getting up for at least a little while longer, holding Astarion close while he rubbed and stroked every softened part of his lover.

This was a common routine when classes were not in at Blackstaff. Quiet, lazy mornings in bed, feeding each other once they both bothered to help roll each other out.

But something was feeling different as of late to Astarion. Not in a bad way, or in any kind of way that would make a young lover fear for their relationship. But it felt as if something in Gale’s very being was changing, and Astarion couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

The closest he could get to defining it was the way Gale smelled. But even that seemed strangely insufficient to describe it–the smell of his musky cologne was the same he always used, and the smell of the tomes from his library and the academy were unmistakable.

Buried in Gale’s chest however, Astarion could smell something. Something new.

It would plague him all throughout the morning and afternoon, but he was determined to try and figure out just what it was. He watched Gale from the divan in the study as he flipped through tomes and murmured incantations. Tara sat next to Astarion, also watching Gale intently.

Gale still moved like usual, if not a little slower due to his quickly-accumulated weight around his middle, but that was to be expected.

“It’s a damned shame I can’t hear your perspective on what I’m sensing,” Astarion sighed, glancing at Tara. She glanced back, before meowing in what Astarion thought sounded like commiseration.

“Am I simply imagining things? One too many sweets before bedtime?” Astarion continued at Tara, unsure of what else to do. He began counting on his fingers. “His magical skill hasn’t waned, he still cooks regularly, even sends letters to Halsin and Wyll and Karlach every month–he’s been researching the blueprints they brought back for Karlach’s new heart.”

Tara meowed knowingly, flicking her tail at Astarion’s leg.

“Yes, I know you know all that. I’m just trying to,” Astarion huffed, waving his hand in a frustrated flourish. “Eliminate all doubt, or whatever it is that Gale says to his students.”

A low, long meow came from Tara this time before she settled her head down on her paws.

“Well, I don't want to worry him, either. This period is for him to rest before the next courses begin. To tell him that something is strange, but not in a bad way–I’m either overly concerned or not concerned enough.”

There was no response from Tara now, her body rising and falling with relaxed breathing. Astarion rolled his eyes and smirked, guessing that his prattle wore out her patience with him. He returned his full attention to Gale, thoughtfully tapping his chin.

Gale was thumbing through a tome, reclined in his chair with one hand absently rubbing his large belly.

Astarion restrained a pleased chuckle at the sight. It seemed Gale really was quite comfortable with his weight, as if it had always been a part of him. Then Astarion looked down at himself, his own ballooned weight sitting proudly on his body.

He gave his own belly a pat before letting his mind wander, having exhausted all his current directions.

When was the first time he noticed this indescribable change? It was when Gale realised that his old trousers no longer fit him. He could no longer pull them up over his waist, his belly protruding farther than before and his sides starting to spill over his hips.

There was a blush of embarrassment that crept over Gale’s cheeks that morning, but Astarion found himself almost supernaturally drawn to the sight. He lavished him with kisses and whispered praises, Gale turning pliable and needy under his touch. He simply assumed the smell was due to the breakfast they had just finished and the lovemaking shortly after.

But even now, a year later, the sensation remained–stronger than ever. And Gale was fatter than ever, bountiful body partly grown by Astarion’s dutiful spoiling and encouragement. Mostly by Gale realising he no longer needed to hide or restrain himself any longer.

Would it really be that simple? Astarion wondered, a hopeful realisation pulling up at the corners of his mouth. And would it mean what he thought it might?

Astarion slowly rose from the divan, taking in a deep breath and feeling his belly stretch out against his shirt. He walked over to Gale, who gave Astarion a warm smile as he ran his fingers through his brown hair.

“What were you discussing with Tara? You know, she quite enjoys her conversations with you,” Gale said with a grin, setting the tome he was studying further up on his table.

“Oh, we were discussing…you,” Astarion replied, stroking Gale’s head.

Gale looked at Astarion with humorous trepidation, leaning into his touch.

“Good things, I hope.”

Astarion leaned in close, pressing a kiss on the top of Gale’s head and taking in a deep breath and recognising the new smell. He smiled. “Potentially…very good things.”

Gale looked up at him, waiting for Astarion to continue. But he moved his hand from his belly to slide over Astarion’s wide hip and gave him a gentle squeeze.

“I am going to make a request of you, and I am going to warn you that it will sound absolutely deranged,” Astarion continued with a hesitant grunt. Gale’s big brown stare fell somewhere between intrigued and concerned.

“But may I…drink your blood?”

“...What?” Gale asked, sounding as if he could not trust his own ears. He waited for a moment, but continued when Astarion didn’t add anything further. “Don’t I…taste horrifying awful? You recall that I poisoned you, right?”

“Yes, I know, but for some time now you’ve been feeling–smelling different. I believe,” Astarion said quickly, almost running completely over his words with thinly-veiled excitement, “your blood may have been changing.”

Gale looked at Astarion with confusion, then his brow furrowed thoughtfully. He pulled his hand from Astarion’s hip and began stroking his beard. His eyes darted around the room before slowly traveling back up to Astarion.

“The orb has been dormant since the Netherbrain fell, and you’ve…” Astarion placed a hand on Gale’s belly. “Grown. A lot, if I might be so bold.”

While Gale’s expression didn’t change, and his gaze was laser-focused on the space ahead of him, his hand landed on Astarion’s and squeezed it against his stomach.

“Could it really be possible?” Gale asked breathlessly, eagerly. “That the effects of the orb are really being purged?”

Astarion moved to stand in front of Gale, his mouth now starting to water. “There’s simply one way to find out.”

“Only a quick taste at first, all right? If I’m still poison, the less you get, the better,” Gale warned, looking up at Astarion.

The vampire’s pulse began to race, the thought of finally being able to taste Gale and not fall ill made him giddy. Even if it was the slightest bit sweeter, he would consider that a victory. He’d tasted Gale’s skin and his lips–his selfishness and greediness for the wizard regularly hissed to him about how it was unfair that his blood would be out of his reach.

Gale seemed nervous as well, pulling his hair away and revealing his soft, bare neck to Astarion.

Astarion nearly found himself lunging at Gale, but instead firmly grasped Gale’s shoulders and took a deep breath. He leaned in, his belly quickly pressing against Gale’s before his lips reached his neck.

A brief moment of hesitation flashed across Astarion’s mind, but his vampire instincts still opened his mouth and he sunk his fangs into Gale’s flesh.

Gale let out a breath, and Astarion carefully drank.

The memory of the sour, bitter bile he once tasted long ago was quickly replaced by something Astarion could only initially describe as elixir.

He drank even more deeply, the taste of his blood warm, sweet, and ending on a familiar bitter flavor–but it only served to complement the symphony of flavors he never thought Gale would have been able to provide.

“Star,” Gale moaned, gripping Astarion’s side.

Astarion gasped, pulling away from Gale and panting. He looked at him in awe, his hands still on Gale’s shoulders.

“Gods, you’re absolutely…delicious,” Astarion said, almost in a whine. His tongue already ached for more.

“I’m…I am?” Gale whispered, his cheeks flushing. His eyes were wide, caught somewhere between shock and desire.

“More delicious than anything I think I’ve ever tasted,” Astarion panted, leaning in and lapping at the wounds on Gale’s neck.

“Then don’t stop.” Gale squeezed Astarion’s side, trying to pull him even closer. “Eat your fill.”

Astarion needed no further encouragement, easily sliding his fangs back into Gale’s neck and hungrily drinking. He could feel his stomach filling, and the fact it was Gale filling him made his body burn and ache with desire.

He felt himself lowering futher onto Gale, trying his best to straddle him even with their bellies in the way. Gale groaned into his ear, dragging his fingers down the rolls of Astarion’s back.

Astarion moaned back in response, still in awe of the deep, complex taste of Gale’s blood. If it was somehow still poison, Astarion didn’t care.

“Astarion…” Gale slurred, his hand falling weakly from Astarion’s side. “I am…fading…”

The vampire returned to himself, quickly pulling away from Gale. He frantically looked him over, the color drained from his face but a shockingly pleased smile was on the wizard’s face.

“Hells, I’m so sorry, Gale, I couldn’t…how can you taste so good now?” Astarion gasped, cradling Gale’s face in his hands.

“Worry not, my Star,” Gale panted, his voice lilting. “I was tempted to let you drink me dry…but I won’t be dying tonight. But nevermind me…how do you feel?”

Astarion shook his head at Gale’s disregard for his own health, but he couldn’t help but smile back at him. He realised just how warm and heavy Gale’s blood felt in his stomach and he tenderly placed a hand on his own belly. He wanted more, naturally, but not tonight.

The fact that he could drink from Gale at all was boon enough.

“Gale…you blasted wizard, you somehow still had some trick up your sleeve,” he laughed quietly before pressing gentle kisses across Gale’s face.

Gale chuckled, dazedly trailing a finger down Astarion’s neck and chest. “Surely…hand-feeding me merits some credit for you too.”

“Oh, that’s what you need–” Astarion gasped, gently caressing Gale’s face before quickly waddling to the pantry. He grabbed bread and dried meat, then pressed a carafe of water to cradle in his other wide arm. He then passed by Gale’s supply of potions on the way back to the study, grabbing a few healing potions of varying strength.

He hurriedly returned to Gale, who he found sleepily waving him over.

“Perhaps…it’s the same concept as those rare-breed cattle?” Gale babbled. “Fed only…the finest foods to sweeten their flesh…”

Astarion could only laugh in disbelief, decidedly not wanting to think of his beloved Gale as livestock.

“Gale, please don’t ever refer to yourself as cattle again. You are much smarter than that,” Astarion snorted, handing Gale the loaf of bread he brought. He clumsily took it, observing it with strange focus.

“But you don’t deny that I am…as well-fed as they are?”

“Gods, Gale, just rest. Don’t sour the taste of your blood with ridiculous prattle.”

Gale tore a hunk of the loaf with his teeth and began chewing. “I must…find a way to increase my blood supply…”

Astarion sighed, trying to restrain his excitement at the mere thought of getting to gorge further on Gale’s blood.

“What you need right now is to rest, and drink the rest of these,” he gently scolded, aiming the tone more at himself than at Gale, and then handed him a healing potion. He quickly uncorked it and watched as Gale drank it down.

Color began to return to his face and Astarion let out a low sigh of relief. He would likely go out tonight and secure several Superior Potions of Healing while Gale slept.

“Come, let’s get you into bed. I hope that I didn’t interrupt your studying with this sudden…experiment,” Astarion said, trailing off rather embarrassedly.

“Quite the opposite, my love,” Gale said with a grin. He gestured for another potion, and Astarion handed a larger one to him. This time, Gale uncorked the potion himself and he emptied the bottle in only a few gulps. “The study will be there for me tomorrow. This discovery was of the utmost importance.”

Astarion felt his full stomach somersault at Gale’s husky tone, and he wanted to take his soft face and body in his hands, kissing and adoring him for the rest of the evening.

“It seems I’ve also discovered an even more important reason in keeping you well-fed now.”

“Ah-ha, so you do admit that I am like those fancifully-fed livestock!” Gale crowed, playfully pointing a finger at Astarion.

Astarion felt his cheeks flush, no doubt a result of how much blood he managed to drink from Gale. He stammered, “I refuse to call you livestock!”

“Oh, you’ll come around, Star,” Gale teased, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his stomach. “I won’t mind it, if it’s you.”

“Gods, come on,” Astarion groaned, trying not to be tantalised by the way he somehow confidently presented himself in this moment. “Come get into bed before I actually do decide to drain you completely.”                   

The desire wasn’t actually too far from Astarion’s mind. Despite his bantering and caring for Gale, the taste of his blood was still fresh on his tongue and his mind. The fact that it was possible at all was still unbelievable.

It was more poetic than he would have openly admitted, but it was clear that being loved and cared for changed the both of them in ways Astarion never would have expected a few years ago.

He helped Gale to his feet, walking with him back to their room. Astarion eased Gale into bed, tenderly kissing his forehead.

“Rest. I’ll come to check on you in a bit. I’ll clean up your study.”

Gale nodded, setting Astarion’s slight worry to rest. With that, the vampire turned to leave the room–tenderly and possessively rubbing his stomach, finally full of the man he loved.

***

Gale’s rest was likely not as restful as he assumed Astarion would have preferred.

The entire sequence of events replayed over and over in Gale’s head, but he took great care to linger on the way Astarion’s belly actually swelled against his as he drank his blood.

The experience was novel, remarkable, and arousing. He pondered the fact that Astarion was glutting himself on Gale’s blood, and then lamented that he couldn’t provide more for him. Another reason to wish he had become a Cleric instead of a Wizard.

Regardless, Gale felt their lives were different now. The new opportunity to properly feed Astarion and satisfy his hunger by his own power was in Gale’s hands.

How awfully greedy and reckless of you, he could hear an unknown voice chiding him. Was it his mother, warning him not to overextend–or was it Astarion’s voice, teasing him and beckoning him to draw closer?

Gale simply took a deep breath and then exhaled, looking at one of the potions Astarion left on the side table. He couldn’t push the sensation of Astarion’s bloating stomach against him out of his mind, the sound of his quiet moans in his ear as he drank.

His heart started pounding again as he longed to feel Astarion against him again, but it seemed to sap what energy he had restored with the healing potions he had consumed. He reached for a potion, unsure of what else to do with his thoughts besides drinking them away. It was no Arabellan Dry, but it would have to do.

This potion was significantly stronger than the others, Gale recognising that it was one of the superior potions he kept for emergencies. He winced at the slightly bitter taste, remembering now that it was rare for him to consume one outside of the urgency of battle. But he also felt his strength returning with every swallow.

A hopeful idea crept into his mind.

If Gale was able to sufficiently restore himself with healing potions, would Astarion be able to fill himself even further with his blood?

Gale took a deep breath, trying to settle the excitement that suddenly grew in his chest at the idea.

The longing to feel Astarion pressed against him, drinking from him, was attempting to consume his every thought. He pressed his hand to his mouth, closing his eyes and breathing deep.

He would ask Astarion. He would allow himself that much, at least. It was not as if it would never happen again. They were inseparable and they had their lives together ahead of them. Desperate nights of passion would surely be a common occurrence in the days to come.

Gale managed to continue his deep breathing, slowly calming his thoughts as he finished the potion. He rotated the emptied bottle in his hand, only briefly stirred by the thought of Astarion’s tongue hungrily licking blood from his neck. He shook his head, a shiver running down his spine and making his stomach tremble.

It wasn’t long before Astarion returned to the bedroom, and Gale looked up at him with eagerness. He glanced at his belly, still rather distended from his sudden meal of Gale’s blood, then back up at his face.

“The study is tidied. How are you feeling?” Astarion asked softly, waddling closer to him.

Gale smiled, holding up the empty bottle in his hand. “Nothing a few healing potions couldn’t fix.”

“You don’t feel dizzy or anything like that?”

“Thanks to your care, not in the slightest.”

Not in the bloodless way, at least, Gale thought mischievously, hoping his face wasn’t telling his true feelings.

Astarion smiled, sitting close to Gale on the bed. “I still can’t believe that your blood isn’t affected by the orb anymore.”

The genuine excitement in Astarion’s voice warmed Gale’s heart, drawing his thoughts away from the strictly carnal and to the sheer miracle that the effects of having the Karsite Weave within him were virtually gone.

“There’s surely much to be learned from this–much to research,” Gale mused, trying to communicate a hint of desire in his grin. It wasn’t untrue but this would likely be research Gale was more than happy to undertake.

It seemed his meaning was not lost on Astarion, who responded with a low, purring laugh. He did give Gale a warning glance, however.

Understandable, given that Gale had nearly lost every drop of blood in his body. But the aching desire to feel Astarion full against him–full of him, overrode his more rational thoughts.

“I want you to have more of me,” Gale plainly said, sitting up straighter in bed and extending his hand to Astarion.

“Gale, I would love nothing more, but…”

“I’ve replenished enough of my strength with the healing potions, I don’t feel ill or lacking in strength,” Gale quickly countered.

Astarion was still unconvinced to some degree. Gale knew his vampiric lover wanted more, he knew he could handle more, but now with his own health and bodily safety as a part of the equation–things became tantalisingly complicated. A new dance for the two of them to navigate.

Gale smiled gently, tilting his head to the side. “Consider this our first experiment. We’ll go slowly and carefully. I’ve still got two more healing potions here, and I trust you.”

He watched as Astarion carefully, thoughtfully placed his hand on his bloating stomach and rubbed from top to bottom.

“Is…there still a Scroll of Revivify hidden in the bookcase in the study?” Astarion’s voice was quiet and serious.

“There is,” Gale nodded, presing his calf against Astarion’s hip. “Though if this is too much for you right now, I understand. I’ve just…longed for this for ages. I was resigned to it never happening.”

“So was I.” Astarion scooted a little closer to Gale, now tracing his fingers down the seam of Gale’s trousers.

“No time like the present,” Gale replied with a devious smile.

“Gods damn your eloquence,” Astarion scoffed, turning his head and making his white hair bob.

Gale laughed, his belly bobbing up and down. “If that’s what passes for eloquence, I can’t wait to see what I can do with proper preparation.”

“You tell me the moment you begin to feel light-headed.” Astarion warned, starting to slide himself further onto the bed. The vampire was unable to hide his eager smile, moving himself to start straddling Gale’s legs.

“Of course.” Gale stretched out his arms, ready to welcome Astarion’s softness on top of him.

Astarion began climbing toward Gale on all fours, his belly soon pressing against Gale’s as he reached his neck. Gale tossed the empty bottle in his hand to the floor with a clink, grabbing a full one from the side table.

Gale reclined back, looking deep into Astarion’s longing, hungry eyes.

He shivered as Astarion pressed his lips to Gale’s neck once again. Gale’s hand moved to rest on the side of Astarion’s belly, slowly fingering down to where it was tucked into his pants.

He felt Astarion’s breath tickle his neck in an airy laugh before he inhaled and bit down onto Gale’s neck.

The soothing numbness crept through Gale’s body once again and Astarion’s pleased moan rang in his ear as he swallowed.

Astarion drank more slowly this time, though the slowness seemed to magnify the sensation. And once again, Gale could feel Astarion’s stomach swelling against his. He swiftly pulled the shirt up from Astarion’s waistband, his soft belly bulging outward as it was released from the shirt.

There was a thankful moan that rumbled in Astarion’s chest and he lowered himself a little more onto Gale’s body.

Gale could feel every swallow expand Astarion’s stomach. He rolled his hips as best as he could against Astarion’s belly, feeling him press further into him in response.

A whining moan escaped Astarion’s throat this time after a particularly slow swallow, and Gale hummed an encouraging noise into his ear.

“Keep going,” Gale whispered, running his hand against Astarion’s tightening belly. “I’m not lightheaded yet.”

Astarion could only respond with another moan, sucking deeply and drawing a surprised whine from Gale.

They maintained this position for a little while longer, Astarion’s pace slowing and Gale encouragingly rubbing the side of his increasingly-swollen stomach. A slight jostling made his belly slosh and Gale groaned happily at the sound.

“You’re so full…so full of me, Star,” he murmured dizzily. The way his voice nearly slurred past his lips made him realise how drained he was becoming.

Gale uncorked the healing potion in his hand with more dexterity than he expected and quickly began drinking. The pleasant fog of bloodloss was fading, and Astarion responded with a surprised noise and a loud swallow.

“I know you’re not quite done yet.” Gale said as he finished the potion and kept his hand on Astarion’s stomach. He could feel the pressure building, still filling Astarion. “We have so much time to make up for…”

Astarion moaned, pulling his fangs from Gale’s neck and panting. He pulled far enough back to look into Gale’s eyes, half-lidded with drunken pleasure.

“Hells, shit, Gale…you’re so delicious,” the vampire whined, an airy burp interrupting him. “I’m so full…but I need more of you still…”

“Whatever you need, my love,” Gale said sweetly, dropping the now-empty bottle and reaching up to caress Astarion’s round face. He used his thumb to wipe a trickle of blood from his chin and delicately wiped it into Astarion’s mouth.

His tongue swirled around Gale’s thumb before he quickly went back into his neck, lapping at the remains. Gale sighed and shivered at the sensation.

Astarion bit down once again, and Gale slowly began rubbing his belly–tight and sloshing with every involuntary movement or adjustment.

A whine now began to proceed every swallow, gravity pulling Astarion’s bloated body further down onto Gale’s. It was unlike anything Gale had ever felt before, the warmth of his own blood filling another creature this way. Resting on his own fattened body, the pleasure and satisfaction of knowing Astarion was so utterly filled with him–three times over, as a matter of fact.

After a few moments longer, Astarion groaned and released Gale’s neck.

“Gods, I, urgh,” Astarion let out a moaning burp. “I can’t drink…anymore.”

Gale let out a shaky breath, utterly aroused by the laboured sounds of Astarion’s breathing. He was content if Astarion was, but before he could say anything, the vampire came back down on his neck and licked slowly before drinking again.

Gale whined at the sudden sensation, reaching for Astarion’s belly once again.

“You’re so…heavy, so warm…”

With those words, Astarion released Gale and moaned loudly, rolling his hips and making his belly slosh loudly. Gale reciprocated with with own loud moan, sliding both of his hands over Astarion’s silky, tight stomach.

Astarion clumsily rolled over, his belly sloshing noisily. He managed to face Gale, his stomach tinted red and wobbling as he helplessly reached for his trousers.

Gale let out a shuddering breath at the sight of Astarion beached and bloated with his own blood. It had been common to see anytime he returned from gorging on cattle, but there was something deeply arousing knowing that it was Gale himself who caused it this time.

Gale attempted to sit up, but wobbled due to the amount of blood Astarion had taken after the second potion. It wasn’t enough to be dangerous, but enough to leave Gale happily woozy.

“Gods, look at you, Astarion…” he drawled, reaching out and gently pressing Astarion’s massive gut. It hardly gave under his touch at this angle.

“Indeed,” Astarion slurred, his face nearly not visible from behind his stuffed belly and breasts. “Look at what you’ve,” he paused, burping again, “done to me.”

He gave up on reaching his trousers and began rubbing his own corpulent stomach, whines and shallow breathing following every stroke of his palms.

“Are you all right, love?” Gale asked, now feeling a twinge of guilt that he pushed Astarion so far.

“All right…?” Astarion warbled, before burping again. “Darling, I’ve, urgh, felt the best I have in…centuries.”

Gale let out a relieved laugh, scooting closer to Astarion. He wrapped himself around his quivering belly, tenderly caressing it.

“You look the most magnificent I’ve ever seen you, if I may be so bold.”

“You may,” Astarion hiccuped.

“I consider our experiment to be a success,” Gale added, kissing the top of Astarion’s belly.

“How is it that you taste so good after tasting…” Astarion huffed, trying to adjust himself enough to properly look at Gale. Gale did his best not to be distracted by the impressive, wobbling mass that was his lover. “Like absolute shit?”

Gale let out a loud laugh at the way Astarion punctuated the sentence with a burp.

“I was serious about my idea that being well-fed had an effect on me.”

“Oh, I don't doubt it…” Astarion moaned. “But I–excuse me,” he put a hand up, a hiccup shaking his body. “I don't think I can describe just how…utterly delicious you are. Far and, urp, away, the best blood I have ever had.”

“Another thing to add to my excellent pedigree,” Gale replied distractedly, almost entirely absorbed by the sight and feel of Astarion. Deliciously soft in some places, his fat body crowned by the enormous, drum-tight belly that seemed to take up most of his form at the moment.

“You know…I’ll need to properly thank you for this,” Astarion paused, interrupted by yet another loud burp, “when I can properly move again.”

Gale caressed Astarion’s stomach, then pressed his own belly, currently puny in comparison to Astarion’s, against it. He could feel the way the blood sloshed inside Astarion and then felt the gurgling when it stopped moving.

“I can imagine a few ways you can thank me,” he murmured, closing his eyes and trying to memorise the feeling of being pressed up against Astarion’s impressive bloat.

“So can I,” Astarion managed to purr before a quick hiccup shook him up-and-down. He groaned, pressing a hand to his stomach.

Despite the hiccup, Gale recognised the mischievous tone of Astarion’s voice and he did his best to restrain an excited shudder. He could easily envision their places swapped very soon, and he greedily kissed Astarion’s belly in response.

“I may even,” Astarion grunted. “Want to continue this experiment and see how all of this,” he shook his belly, making it slosh and making him moan in pleasure. “Might affect my sexual prowess.”

“Gods, Astarion,” Gale hissed, sitting up and feeling his cheeks flush hot. Astarion looked back at him, nearly pinned by his own weight, but a triumphant–no, arrogant–grin flashed back at Gale. Astarion’s red eyes sparkled hungrily still, somehow.

“Come, you delicious little wizard,” Astarion crooned, waving Gale closer.

Gale arched his eyebrow at the “little” comment, but knew he was in no position to argue–not with the enormous, miraculous accomplishment that sat between them, warm and taut against Gale.

He had a feeling it wouldn't be long before he had his chance to be the same.

Astarion licked his lips, the depths of his stomach aching to be filled. His thoughts flicked back for a moment to the night he drained a whole bear–painfully and tantalizingly glutted. Too-tight pants cutting into the swollen mass of his belly, almost unable to move.

Almost.

There was no looming threat requiring him to exercise restraint.

His bloodthirst whispered greedily in his ears. This was the least the world could do for him–no, owed him. A few massive beasts in the forest would not be missed. He'd be doing whatever hapless children wandering too far from their families a favor, really.

But he remembered there wasn't just one thing that was different. He had someone by his side this time.

What of his beloved Gale?

The wizard was out, likely to return soon from assisting with the reconstruction efforts in the city. Mage Hands and Arcane Gates made transportation of materials much easier, and they were easy feats for a man of Gale’s rebuilt talents. 

His orb was still sated, and Astarion could see Gale’s confidence to exist slowly returning.

He was brave enough–or perhaps petty enough–to admit his jealousy of the man he loved. But he was still proud of him. Glad he could begin to return to society.

Something Astarion would never really be able to experience in the same way.

The whispering thirst was growing into a low roar, making his head spin.

Astarion walked to Gale’s things, easily finding a pair of his pants and one of his casual shirts. Wider than Astarion’s own wardrobe, a faint, sweet reminder of Gale’s soft physique.

He threw them into a satchel, closing it quickly. His hands and head were beginning to tingle, the anticipation of violently quelling his thirst pushing him faster and faster. Lost in the excited noise of his thoughts, he did not hear Gale enter the room.

“Astarion?” His warm, kind voice briefly snapping Astarion out of his trance. He whirled around and tried to mask whatever strange expression he knew was on his face.

Gale looked at Astarion with a gentle curiosity, his eyebrow arched slightly.

“Oh, hello, darling,” Astarion did his best not to stammer, smoothing his clothes with one hand and nonchalantly trying to ignore the satchel in the other. “I was…feeling rather antsy and thought some fresh air would clear my head.”

Gale’s expression softened with a concerned furrow of his brow, nearly breaking Astarion’s heart.

“I’m so sorry, Star,” Gale said with an apologetic sigh. “I know it’s hard for you to have to only come out at night again…I should have done more to consider that.”

Well done, Astarion, he thought sourly, gripping the satchel strap in his hand.

“Gale, my love, you are not my keeper,” he tried sweetly reassuring him with a quick flourish of his free hand. “While I appreciate your care and attention,” he continued with a seductive grin, “I am a grown vampire and I should be responsible for keeping myself entertained during the day.”

Gale’s glance at the satchel was not missed by Astarion and he sighed, trying to give him a reassuring smile now.

“I promise I’ll be safe, I just have the idea that maybe spending some time under the stars–like we were only doing a tenday ago–will help me…reset? Restore,” Astarion paused, not even entirely convinced by his own explanation. “Reassess.”

“Reassess…” Gale repeated thoughtfully, glancing down and to the side before nodding and looking back up at Astarion. “I think I understand the feeling. Will you be all right alone?”

“Darling, you need your rest–you’ve been helping these poor people all day,” Astarion replied, sauntering up to Gale and tucking some of his loose brown hair behind his ear.

Gale gently trailed the knuckle of his index finger along Astarion’s jaw and stopped under his chin.

“You know I don’t mind staying up with you,” he said in a low voice.

Astarion’s thirst groaned, longing to bite into Gale, though he knew the bitter poison that his beloved tasted like would not fill him in the violent way he desired. 

Oh, if only, a surprisingly fierce wave of longing washed over Astarion. He took Gale’s hand in his and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

***

Astarion had reached deep enough into the forests near Baldur’s Gate that he would be largely only be disturbed by whatever wildlife lived nearby. He changed into Gale’s loose pants, though he decided to forgo the shirt. He paused, pressing it to his face and taking in a deep breath. The smell of Gale filled his senses up and almost made Astarion lose his nerve.

It would be so easy to return and slip under the covers of the bed with Gale, his warm, deep scent filling his nose, pressing kisses along his neck and tangling his hands in his wavy, brown hair.

But his frustrated hunger smothered the thoughts of complacency. Astarion was here on a gluttonous mission, and the rustling sound of leaves reminded him of it. He dropped the shirt onto the satchel and turned to look at the rustling.

A snort and even more rustling revealed a boar trudging past and Astarion silently lunged, letting his instincts take him over.

The boar went down so easily, a squeal descending into labored breathing as Astarion’s fangs placated the creature while he restrained its legs.

Deliciously gamey and warm, Astarion drank deeply, filling his belly with blood. It only barely served to begin placating whatever was taking him over, but it would be an excellent start.

Before he knew it, the boar was motionless and Astarion’s belly sloshed quietly as he returned to his feet. Gale’s clothes were still loose, and Astarion clumsily wiped his mouth. He panted, looking around and his sharpened senses listening for his next prey.

If he allowed himself to return to his right mind, the boar would have been enough for tonight. But he gladly let himself be gripped by his hunger and began prowling toward a new source of sound. He let out a satisfied hiss as he saw another boar, this one rooting around in the dirt.

This one went down even faster, and Astarion greedily sucked it dry, feeling his stomach bloating further–though Gale’s clothes still held more room. He rubbed his belly, pleased with the emerging dome and the sloshing he could feel as he staggered back and away from his second kill.

He needed more still. More of any animal he could find.

His hearing was at its peak now, and he followed it to another source of rustling, also losing track of where he had entered the forest. But it was of little concern to him. He wasn’t done–he wasn’t full enough yet.

Squirrels, birds, a fox, the animals began to blend into each other as Astarion glutted himself further. His belly continued to swell, the pressure now starting to constrict his movement but he was undeterred.

Then, the big prize appeared before him in his frantic trance.

A massive brown bear, asleep by an enormous tree. Astarion eagerly rubbed his taut stomach, swollen further than it had been in some time. The waistband of Gale’s pants was now comfortable below his distended belly, somehow telling Astarion that there was still more room.

No, not telling–begging. Begging for more. Begging to be filled until he couldn’t move. To take the bear’s place by the tree and be filled further than he had ever imagined.

Astarion knew his movements had now grown clumsy, but the bear stayed fast asleep as he crunched across leaves and branches. Something in Astarion told him that even if the bear awoke, it would be no match for the hunger that gripped the pale elf tonight.

And as easy as any other kill tonight, Astarion sunk his fangs into the bear. Incredibly enough, the bear remained asleep and he drank as hungrily as ever–as if he wasn’t already stuffed to the brim.

He kept one of his hands on his belly, rubbing greedily as he drank, feeling the skin tighten and feeling himself swell with every swallow. He moaned as he trailed his hand down below his waistband and caressed his increasingly-sensitive skin. Heat began to pool in his core as gravity began trying to pull him down with the weight of his sloshing gut.

A bit of panic suddenly whispered in his ear as he could now feel his swollen belly begin pressing against his thighs. The bear was still not drained, and Astarion knew he was well past a comfortable, glutted capacity.

But he couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop? He wasn’t sure now. He was simply a creature of hungry instinct in this moment. He needed every drop from this bear.

Was it proof of his freedom? That he could drink as much as he wanted, more than he would ever actually need in one sitting? The sunlight may now mock him again, but with the moon and stars, he was undeniably free.

Free to eat, drink, and fuck as he pleased–or didn’t.

Cazador was gone.

The pain of his gluttony was now reaching him, his hand helplessly rubbing the side of his shockingly heavy belly. There was still more to drink.

No devils angling for his soul or artefacts of immense power.

Astarion shakily dropped to his knees, his fangs still deep in the bear and the never-ending flow of blood still filling him. His globe of a belly landed rather painfully on his thighs and he let out a groan, equal parts pain and pleasure.

Gale.

Oh Gods, Gale. His beloved Gale Dekarios. A man who came to understand him better than most, at first to his dismay, and then to his immense comfort.

The thought of Gale somehow reinvigorated Astarion, arousal building below his swollen belly. He widened his stance, letting gravity pull his belly downward and against his crotch.

He somehow sucked even more hungrily, his hand traveling over every inch of the obscene thing that now occupied where his stomach should have been. Gale’s pants now strained against his belly, and right before Astarion thought he might finally burst–the bear ran dry.

He shakily removed his fangs from the bear, absolutely dead and drained and to any other passer-by, peacefully asleep.

Astarion groaned, his entire world wobbly and tinted red. He clumsily tried scooting away from the bear, but his enormously large and tight stomach bumped against the inside of his thighs. It was warm and solid, the pressure pushing against his ribs. A desperate burp escaped his throat and he moaned.

He looked down at himself, apparently pregnant with whatever he allowed his gluttony to do to him. The pain of his stretching skin combined with the ecstasy of his immense fullness made his head and shoulders tingle.

It was all he could do to lean himself against the bear, making as good a support as anything else, as he leaned on the cooling body and fur. His belly rolled out in front of him, his legs spread to make room for the red-tinged dome.

Astarion moaned happily, running his hands over his belly. A spiteful gesture to the dead master that enslaved him for two centuries. He was more than rats and bugs and the torture he experienced. He would grow to be more than anything Cazador could have ever imagined, if his globe-like belly was any indication.

He shivered with delight, but it shook a hiccup and then a painful burp from his chest. A groan quickly followed, Astarion sliding his hands under his stomach. He cradled it in his hands, trying to carefully lift it.

Hells, it was so heavy. He was so heavy. This was his doing, his freedom.

He let his belly slide back down through his hands and between his legs, gurgling noises forcing up another burp.

Something within him was finally satisfied. And all it took was eating so much he couldn't move. A part of him still wanted more, but for now his frustrations were silent.

Every breath he took was shallow and short, his lungs struggling against all the space claimed by his stomach. But it felt so good. It felt right, somehow.

He closed his eyes, one hand on the side of his belly and the other carefully caressing the warm, domed top. The only thing that would make this perfect was…

Hells, there was no way he'd be back in the room with Gale tonight. He knew there was a possibility he was lying when he said he would be back soon.

A heavily overfed, bloated beast of an elf, Astarion was not going to be moving from his makeshift bear-corpse chair. He glanced up at the canopy of trees, a little unsure if it would protect him from the dawn. But the blood drunk part of himself cared little for what would come next.

He had gotten his bounty and now he needed to admire and sit with what he had done to himself. Another slow caress of his belly had him moan with pleasure and he leaned his head back to let his daze overtake him.

***

Gale knew better than to trust the strange look in Astarion's eyes. It was something similar to what he saw in him facing Cazador.

And his own missing clothes were a curious indication of what Astarion was up to. But he would give him his time, only leaving to find him when hours passed and Astarion had not returned.

With a quick incantation, Gale set up one half of an Arcane Gate in their room, holding the spell close to his chest as he left to follow the vampire.

Gale quickly discovered from stationed Flaming Fist guards that a shifty-looking elf with white hair had left in the direction of the forests nearby. He sighed, a bit in exasperation and a bit in concern.

He entered past the trees, torch in hand, looking around for any possible sign of Astarion. It didn't take long for him to find the satchel he took with him, and then to find a bloodless boar nearby. Gale's shirt was still on the satchel, causing his brow to furrow in confusion.

It didn't take long to find the trail of bloodless animals, and Gale let out a disbelieving snort. Was it really just hunger pangs that were tormenting Astarion? There was something strange in the sheer number of animals drained of blood, though.

Gale continued until he heard a strangely familiar moan, stopping in his tracks. He waited to hear the noise again, and after a moment it sounded again.

He followed the sound, his eyes trying to process what exactly he had come across.

Astarion’s ever-familiar white hair, his body propped against a presumably-drained bear and his shockingly swollen belly rolled out in front of Astarion’s thin body.

It was unlike anything he had really seen before, that a humanoid body could suddenly look like that within a matter of hours.

He could see the proud grimace Astarion wore, his hands cradling the heavy thing in front of him. Gale’s breath caught in his throat at the sight.

“Astarion,” Gale said breathlessly, running to meet him and looking him over for any other possible injuries, trying to ignore the globe of a stomach Astarion was now sporting. “Are you hurt?”

“Oh, darling, I was just…” Astarion paused, interrupted by a hiccup, then a burp. “...thinking of you.”

“What…what did you do?” Gale asked, glancing at the dead bear Astarion was leaned against. “Is…was this your idea of getting fresh air?”

“Oh, you must have found the scraps,” he slurred, an airy burp escaping his mouth. “Of my…glorious feast.”

“I’m glad I did…” Gale murmured, trying not to let his attention be completely drawn by the shakily rising-and-falling belly of his vampiric lover. This seemed to be an unnecessary risk that Astarion took for the sake of something Gale needed a little more help to understand. “Were you simply going to stay here all night, risk getting caught by sunlight?”

“I’m…not a details person, Gale,” Astarion groaned, slowly rubbing his belly. “I…had an urge that needed to be fulfilled, simple as that, my love.”

Gale sighed, rubbing the lower half of his face, his fingers slowly dragging over his whiskers down to his chin. His eyes traveled over the flushed Astarion and his swollen, red stomach.

“How…do you feel?” Gale asked slowly, trying not to let his own growing arousal get the best of him.

“Free…” Astarion said with a dopey grin pulling at his lips. Gale gave him a skeptical smile and stare when a loud burp shook all of Astarion’s body, his belly trembling. Astarion then groaned, carefully gripping the sides of his stomach. “Ugh, okay, and full…”

Gale nodded knowingly, relieved that Astarion didn’t seem to be in any unwanted pain. His eyes traveled once again to Astarion’s belly, and his free hand slowly reached toward him. He also now noticed his pants on Astarion, the waistband terribly snug and squeezing.

“May I…?” Gale asked quietly, his hand hovering anxiously over the top of his bobbing stomach. Astarion gave him a knowing look of his own, then tossed a permissive glance at his distended belly.

The wizard carefully placed his hand on Astarion’s stomach, abnormally warm from all the consumed blood, his skin drum-tight and somehow silken. A quiet hiss escaped Astarion’s lips, and Gale’s eyes leapt to his, expecting to see pain coloring his expression–however, a pleased, slightly pained smile was there on his face instead.

“And here I was worried…I wouldn’t get everything I wanted tonight,” Astarion murmured.

Gale slowly started rubbing circles on Astarion’s taut skin, drawing a pleased hum from his lips.

“So…let’s see…” Gale sighed, marveling at the sensation of Astarion’s too-full belly under his palm. “A boar, some squirrels…I saw a bird, and a bear.”

“You missed the fox and the…second boar,” Astarion replied, instinctively adjusting and then wincing at the way his belly tried sloshing back and forth. “Perhaps a few extra birds as well.”

Gale pulled his hand from Astarion’s stomach in shock. “Good Gods, Astarion.”

Astarion groaned, feebly reaching for Gale’s hand with one of his own.

“Don’t stop,” he said, voice trembling.

“I rather think I should try to get you back to our room,” Gale said, still returning his hand to Astarion’s belly and resuming his circular motion.

Even in Astarion’s blood-drunk stupor, he gave Gale a painfully skeptical look.

“I’m sure…you’ve noticed,” Astarion mumbled, one of his hands sliding up his stomach to meet Gale’s hand on the top. “But I’m not in much of a state to…” Another burp, “...move.”

Gale stroked Astarion’s skin with his thumb, giving him a gently scolding look.

“Well, I won’t be leaving you here, beached whale that you are,” he mused.

Astarion sneered at Gale, before moaning quietly. “That’s unfair…you know I’ve never seen one of those. Though… how do you propose I get back to our room?”

“Gale Dekarios is nothing if not prepared,” Gale said with a smile, giving Astarion’s belly one last rub before standing up and looking around. “However…we're too far for me to complete my Arcane Gate from here. I’ve got just enough juice left to Dimension Door us close enough, I think.”

Astarion groaned uncertainly, grasping the sides of his swollen stomach, shining in the torchlight.

Gale restrained a longing sigh, arching an eyebrow at Astarion's tantalizingly stuffed belly, then up to his flushed face. “Would you rather I find someone to stretcher you back to the Elfsong?”

“Hells, I know you must be joking,” Astarion snapped with a bit more clarity in his voice. “No one but you gets to see me like this.”

“The Dekarios Express it is, then,” Gale smirked, kneeling back down and placing a hand back on Astarion’s stomach. The sensation begged Gale to explore further, the wizard reminding himself that there would be time enough for that once they were hidden away in their room again.

Gale let out a breath, feeling the magic swell up inside him, and into his hand on Astarion’s stomach. They warp to the edge of the forest, Astarion thankfully not travelling too far in. He is almost knocked over, however, by Astarion suddenly clinging to his legs to keep himself upright.

“Hells,” Astarion burped, unpleasantly this time, “Gale, I do not care for that.”

“We're not far now, I can actually see my gate from here, thank the Gods,” Gale said, leaning in to steady Astarion and gently rubbing his stomach protectively.

Gale quickly opened the second gate, their room at the Elfsong beckoning them through. He extinguished his torch and then looked into Astarion’s eyes.

“Forgive me for this, Star,” Gale murmured apologetically, getting under his shoulder and forcing Astarion to his feet.

“Wait, what–”

A pained moan turned into a quick sob as Astarion grasped at his immensely full belly, barely moving at all, but clearly sloshing.

“Damn you, Gale!” Astarion moaned again, gravity trying to pull him down from Gale’s support.

“A moment of pain, my love,” Gale tried comforting as best he could, but he found himself distracted by the ponderous thing that hung from Astarion’s middle.

Tentative steps led them through the gate, Astarion’s belly sloshing and trying to wobble back and forth all the while.

“To the bed, please,” Astarion moaned as Gale helped carry him over and then set him down on the large bed. Astarion clumsily, shakily adjusted himself up to the pillows and then finally, with a relieved sigh reclined back.

Gale stepped back, waving a hand behind him to end his concentration on the Arcane Gate and the room went quiet, save for the sound of Astarion’s laboured breathing.

Astarion was breathtaking, his belly still terribly swollen out in front of him, his hands tenderly rubbing the sides. At this moment, his stomach greatly outsized Gale’s own and warmth pooled in his abdomen at the thought. His white hair still crowned him like a halo of starlight, his red eyes gleaming dangerously when they were open. Upon closer inspection, Astarion’s cheeks were flushed darker than Gale had ever actually seen before.

Gale drew close to Astarion, silently meeting his gaze once his eyes briefly opened again, wordlessly asking permission to touch him again. Astarion waved him closer, and Gale gently pressed his hand to his belly–still unusually warm and taut. He slowly trailed to the side, giving him a soft push and making his belly wobble.

A satisfied moan escaped Astarion’s throat and he took a shallow, shaky breath.

“So you really got what you needed out of this…experience?” Gale asked tentatively, now deliberately massaging the side of his belly.

Astarion seemed to relax further at Gale’s touch, a sigh of relief escaping his mouth.

“I…believe I did,” the vampire murmured, leaning his head back and then staring at Gale, his eyes half-lidded.

“Which was…?” Gale continued expectantly, now using his other hand to massage Astarion’s swollen gut. Gale found himself recalling a time he once filled a waterskin nearly to bursting. While he appreciated the sight and feeling of the elf’s gluttony in his hands, it was a little concerning that it happened so suddenly.

“Freedom?” Astarion offered lamely, clearly trying not to melt under the feeling of Gale’s nursing touch. “...Frustration?”

“Frustration,” Gale repeated pensively, only hesitating for a split second before continuing to massage Astarion.

“My life…will never quite be like yours, or Shadowheart’s, or Halsin’s…” Astarion groaned, a burp rising in his chest. It escaped with an airy hiss and Astarion placed one of his hands on Gale’s as he continued working his technique on his overstuffed belly.

Gale’s stare fell, a bit disheartened at finally knowing Astarion’s true feelings for his lot in life now that the dust had finally settled.

“Though at least…I’m not hunting devils or fighting for my life in Avernus,” Astarion tried to joke, as if he was trying to lighten the mood again. “All power to Wyll and Karlach for their decision, of course.”

“Yes, well, you’d have been easy prey like this down there in Hell,” Gale finally replied with a dry chuckle.

Astarion fell quiet again, and Gale hummed softly as he continued kneading his belly. It was sloshing, slowly giving more under his touch. Pleased moans escaped Astarion’s throat every now and then when Gale found a particularly hard spot to care for.

“I no longer have to restrict myself to rats or whatever Cazador permitted me…” Astarion said with a sigh. “I figured losing myself would be a,” he paused, a burp working its way out under Gale’s touch, “a good way to truly celebrate my freedom. To spite the wretch and show whatever is left of him that I will be more than he ever was.”

Gale simply replied with an understanding hum. He continued to massage Astarion, working his hands now to the top of the flushed dome of his belly.

“I wish I would have known you were feeling that way,” he finally said, slowly stroking the top of Astarion’s stomach.

“...I'm sorry,” Astarion murmured, shocking Gale. “It’s embarrassing to even admit it. It's my problem to deal with, not yours.”

“Oh no, that doesn't work anymore,” Gale said, faux-scolding the vampire. He felt himself being pulled toward Astarion’s taut, silky belly and placed a soft kiss on the top of it. He could feel Astarion shiver, and Gale held his belly close.

“Hells, Gale…” Astarion moaned, reaching to thread his hand into the hair on the back of Gale's head. Gale couldn't help but grin as he felt Astarion try to keep Gale's lips close to his immense belly.

“If you wanted to be a glutton, I could have helped you. Maybe not with blood, but you know I’m a talent with the cooking pot,” Gale murmured, pressing more kisses to Astarion’s belly.

“It's not just about the gluttony, you know…it’s a,” Astarion moaned, trailing off as Gale continued dragging his lips over his sloshing belly. Now so close, Gale could hear the sound clearly, along with its gurgling.

Gale looked up at Astarion, his lips still pressed to the dome of his belly–teasingly beckoning him to continue.

“Shit, how can I explain myself when you're doing that?” Astarion sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes again.

“I’ll help you spite Cazador’s memory if you let me,” Gale said with another kiss, this time right above his bellybutton.

“Your enjoyment of what I’ve done to myself is spiteful enough for now,” the vampire moaned happily. “Among other things.”

Gale could feel Astarion try to scoot a little closer to him and he ran his hand from his belly to his hip, giving it a squeeze. “Then rest, Star. I’ll make sure you get exactly what you need tonight.”

***

Astarion drowsily awoke, the curtains closed and some of his mobility returned.

Awoke? He actually…slept? Not just a trance?

He turned to see Gale asleep next to him on his side, his belly sloshing as it followed his movement. He stifled a groan, not wanting to wake the man next to him. Gale had removed his own shirt, his soft belly pooching out and looking extremely contented.

Flashes of the evening began appearing in his mind, Gale’s faithful pampering of his swollen stomach a constant sensation. He glanced at his stomach, still quite distended, but nowhere near as large as it was.

Astarion gently rubbed his stomach, trying to recall just how far he was stretched the night before. And much to his surprise, the desire to return to that size lingered in his mind. If Gale was going to care for him that way, encourage his indulging, that sounded like an excellent life to him. Sunlight be damned, he would find warmth and comfort in his own way.

Sylvain made his way up to Felix, suddenly finding himself no longer nervous about their reunion–but now endlessly amused at Felix’s loss for words.

“You look a little like you’ve seen a ghost, old friend!” Sylvain said as sincerely as he could muster.

Despite knowing he had changed, and even feeling for a bit that he owed his friends some kind of apology or explanation, he couldn't help but want to tease Felix.

If Felix wanted to spar like their academy days, then he would have to bear with Sylvain’s foolishness.

“Thought you wanted to spar?” Sylvain asked with a challenging smile.

Felix looked back at him with a combination of confusion and reluctance, his mouth pulled into a grimace.

Sylvain thought he heard Dorothea stifle a laugh and did his best to keep his own smile looking natural.

“What…what happened to you?” Felix finally stammered out.

Sylvain curiously looked down at himself, placing a hand on his belly and made it appear he was taking a moment to ponder.

He looked back up at Felix with an exaggerated realization. “Wh–when did I get fat?!”

Felix’s expression quickly turned from confusion into the irritation that Sylvain felt was so integral to his charm.

“Stop being stupid!” His friend snapped, any awkwardness between them immediately drying up.

“There he is!” Sylvain replied triumphantly, before pulling Felix in for a hug.

Sylvain knew hugs were not Felix’s preferred display of affection, but falling into the familiar conversational habits he had with him made Sylvain realize how much he missed Felix.

Sylvain half expected Felix to try and pull away and call him a fool, but he instead hugged him back with an intensity that made Sylvain want to cry–which also shocked Sylvain. It appeared that his emotions had softened a bit along with his body.

“You’ve done well with yourself and the territory, Sylvain,” Felix said into Sylvain’s soft shoulder.

Heat crept across Sylvain’s neck and cheeks. He half wondered if this was his friend at all. “It’s unlike you to compliment me like that.”

“Well,” Felix replied, pulling away enough to look at Sylvain’s face. “You’re not the only one who’s changed.”

“Changed enough to swap out a sparring session with a nice, cozy luncheon?” Sylvain offered, gently clapping Felix on his arm. He felt some relief at Felix’s admission, and suddenly felt that any concern he had about reuniting with his friends was unwarranted.

“Annette is still resting from the trip. I’d be a fool not to test Margrave Gautier’s skills while I waited.” Felix released Sylvain from their hug and he gave him a smirk. “Your wife’s skills have only improved–I should hope that even with your change of stature, you at least haven’t lost any of yours.”

Sylvain let out a breathy laugh, realizing that he should have known better than to ask. Changed or not, Felix would always find an excuse to spar.

He looked at Dorothea, who was smiling warmly at him. He nodded and smiled back.

“Will you make sure Annette is being taken care of? I’ll see to Felix now.”

“Of course,” she said with a small bow and another smile at Sylvain before leaving the men.

Sylvain moved to the weapon racks against the wall and pulled out an elegant-looking sword. He glanced at Felix, who was already in his starting position.

“Sorry for making you wait,” he said with a grin as he walked back to his friend.

***

Both Sylvain and Felix were panting as they stood across from each other. Sylvain hoped that Felix had gotten his fill–he was happy to oblige his friend at first, especially feeling the thrill of their blades clashing against each other. But now he just wanted to sit and talk with him. There were things he wanted to know that he couldn’t exactly glean from swordplay.

“Your blows are impressive,” Felix said, starting to lower his sword. “I can still feel it in my arm.”

Sylvain couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh, knowing that Felix was satisfied for now.

“Obviously not impressive enough to stun you,” he said with a wry laugh, rolling his shoulder to try and mitigate a little of his own ache he could feel coming on. His large stomach rose and fell with every heaving pant--not one of the knights could match Felix's intensity during sparring, and Sylvain was feeling it as he tried to catch his breath.

“I know better than to let something like that stop me in battle,” Felix replied matter-of-factly.

Sylvain shook his head and smiled, amused at his friend. His breathing was still heavy, but he was ready to leave the training hall behind. “Come and walk with me. We need to catch up with our words now.”

Felix let out an affirmative grunt before walking with Sylvain to place his sword next to his. Sylvain wiped his forehead and let out a sigh as they stepped into the hallway, planning to lead them to where Annette was likely resting

“I’m sorry if the trip up here was too difficult. We’re trying to find a way to improve the pathways to the castle, but we’ve been busy with other things as you probably know,” Sylvain said, pushing his hands into his pockets.

Felix shook his head. “No, the paths were fine, it’s just that pregnancy is taking a heavy toll on Annette. She gets tired even walking from the dining room to our quarters.”

Sylvain whirled his head to look at Felix in shock.

“Pregnancy?! You mean Annette is pregnant?” he almost shouted, and Felix shot him an irritated look. "You didn't think to tell me in your last letter?"

"Annette wanted it to be a surprise and forbade me from writing to anyone."

"But you could have written me about it, right? Your closest friend? Of you, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, about to cross the threshold of life into fatherhood?"

Felix rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Is it that strange to consider? Ingrid had nearly the same reaction when she found out.”

“Well, I mean…” Sylvain countered with a delighted laugh, bumping Felix with his elbow. “Out of all of us, you always seemed more focused on other things. I mean, if anyone was to have a kid or two running around by now, it would have been me, right?”

“You’ve obviously been busy with other affairs,” Felix said with a shrug.

Sylvain hummed playfully. “Ah yes, I have been eating a lot as of late.”

Felix shot him another irritated look, but then a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. Sylvain grinned back, glad his attempt at humor worked.

“I meant with Sreng, you fool,” Felix chuckled, which actually surprised Sylvain. It was rare that he ever made him laugh.

Sylvain nodded more seriously, not wanting to take Felix’s sincerity for granted.

“It’s been a hard three years, but we’re about to achieve peace. I couldn’t have done it without Dorothea either.”

“Of course. If her swordplay is any indication of her diplomacy, you have a powerful woman at your side.”

Another compliment for Dorothea? Sylvain was shocked, Felix really had changed.

They walked in silence for a bit, Sylvain taking a moment to simply enjoy his friend’s company. He hoped Felix was doing the same.

“So…fatherhood for Felix Hugo Fraldarius,” he eventually drawled, giving Felix another grin.

A bit of blush appeared to creep over Felix’s cheeks and he glanced at the floor before looking back up at Sylvain.

“Indeed,” he murmured. His gaze fell for a moment before he continued. “It’s…just a shame I can’t offer the child their grandfather. The old man would have probably reacted the same as you.”

Sylvain placed his hand on Felix’s shoulder and they came to a stop in front of a window, light streaming through and illuminating Felix’s eyes as he looked up at him.

“I’m sure he’s still proud, wherever he is. Not just for a grandchild, but of you.”

Felix looked up at Sylvain with his usual stony gaze, but there was something soft within it that only those closest to him could discern. He nodded a small thanks in response.

“Besides, if it’s loving family members you’re looking for, you know that Dorothea and I are always here. If you feel your kid needs a nice, fat godfather to dote on them–you know where to find me.” Sylvain grinned again, hoping to lighten the moment. The prospect of fatherhood was supposed to be a happy one.

Felix laughed quietly and shook his head.

“It actually suits you,” he said, crossing his arms again and smiling. “I always called you insatiable, but now you actually have something to show for it.”

Sylvain gasped faux-dramatically, putting his hand on his chest. “I assure you, Felix, I’ve left the insatiable part of myself behind!”

“Of course you have,” Felix said unconvinced, but playing along, though his smile fell a bit as he became pensive for a moment. “Perhaps Annette will be in a better mood after seeing you. Like I mentioned, pregnancy has been a heavy toll. She was distressed that some of her dresses no longer fit her properly, and I told her: weight means little to a person who properly wields it in combat, but…”

Sylvain did his best to stifle a grimace. “Let me guess, that explanation made our poor, sweet Annette burst into tears?”

Felix said nothing in response, his embarrassed expression answering for him.

“I’ll console your lovely wife, Felix,” Sylvain said, starting to walk again and patting Felix on his back. “Show her that a little weight is nothing to fret over.”

Sylvain was anticipating a scoff or a well-placed elbow in his fat side, but instead Felix let out a quiet sigh.

“Thank you.”

Sylvain hummed, a little more concerned now. “You really made her cry with that comment, didn’t you?”

“I’ve never made any claims that I would have any talent with consoling pregnant women,” Felix groaned.

Sylvain couldn’t help but let out a sympathetic laugh for Felix. This was one of the only times he figured he would ever see the man concerned over something he couldn’t fix with a sword.

And then, of course, spoiling him in private and keeping him well-fed for the next round of discussions. She kept his clothes let out, and when those could go no further, made sure his wardrobe was furnished with appropriately-sized clothing for his widening frame.

And now Spring had returned to the Gautier and Sreng Territories, bringing a reprieve from constant meetings with it. The warming temperature seemed to have softened even the hardest, oldest heads in Faerghus and Sylvain got to enjoy some quiet time with Dorothea.

Dorothea was eager to experience the Spring sunlight, and so was Sylvain. She was a vision in her wine-red ensemble, and he was tempted to think that she was wasting it on a simple walk around the castle grounds.

“What better occasion than right now, milord?” Dorothea replied in a teasingly sweet voice. “A beautiful spring afternoon with my beautiful husband.”

Sylvain laughed and shook his head. He wouldn’t have considered himself beautiful in the newer, less formal clothes he was wearing–a simple, cotton buttoned-up shirt with an understated collar and dark trousers, but he knew better than to contradict Dorothea. And not that he would have considered his widened stance and broadened stomach beautiful either. Robust, perhaps?

His thoughts were silenced by the way Dorothea easily slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow–the feeling was strange for a moment, had his arms gotten that much bigger too?--and she pulled him toward the doors leading outside.

“Oh, how I’ve missed that sunlight,” Dorothea said with so much relief in her voice, Sylvain felt himself sighing in tandem with her.

“It’s making me feel human again.” Sylvain took in another deep breath of fresh air, the many meetings in dark, stony rooms feeling more and more like a distant memory. A soft breeze blew, gently rustling Sylvain’s red hair and making him shiver involuntarily.

The sensation surprised him, his body shaking a moment longer than he expected, and he looked down at himself.

He had gotten quite large in such a short amount of time. His feet were nearly hidden by his rounding stomach and he became acutely aware of the way his chin pressed against his neck.

“Goddess, forget feeling human. I didn’t realize I was the size of almost two humans…” Sylvain said with a perplexed laugh.

“Sylvain,” Dorothea said in a sort of offended tone. He looked at her and smirked, trying not to laugh further at her unimpressed stare.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, milady,” he offered before feeling Dorothea gently jab him in his fattened side with her elbow.

They continued walking down a cobblestone path, leading to some trees nearby.

Dorothea sighed. “It didn’t sound that way.”

Sylvain felt her clutch his soft arm and he felt a bit of remorse.

“I’m sorry. I was just surprised, is all. It’s…a lot more evident when I’m not all bundled up for the winter.”

He could feel his belly wobble with each step, and the way his wide thighs constantly brushed against each other. He realized just how much of him was brushing against Dorothea at any given point and swallowed hard to settle the butterflies starting to rattle around in his stomach.

“I still think it suits you,” Dorothea said quietly, pressing her head to his shoulder.

Sylvain could only respond with a short, pleased hum. He had to admit to himself that it did feel nice to be bigger. He certainly felt more intimidating when he addressed the leaders and generals in every peace talk, and he would take whatever leverage he could get.

“We’ll need to visit a blacksmith when we go into town. I’d like some new armor before we resume peace talks again,” he said, glacing at Dorothea to give her a reassuring smile. She met his brown eyes and smiled back, giving his arm a squeeze.

“Do you have any idea when Dimitri will come for a summit?”

Sylvain shook his head. “Not a clue. He’s still so busy in the Capital and with the Professor, and for better or worse, he fully and totally trusts Felix and I to manage affairs up here. I suppose when we’re closer to full peace between us and Sreng, His Majesty will be able to make an excuse to come.”

“And what about Felix?” Dorothea looked curiously at Sylvain.

“The best I can get from him is letters right now, given that he’s also providing support to House Dominic. Granted, that’s all he can really get from me as well. I suppose we’re all busy still trying to rebuild from the war.”

Dorothea let out a rueful sigh. “It’s been almost two years since then. The last time we saw everyone together was at Felix and Annette’s wedding a year ago.”

“I was surprised that everyone made it. We were deep in immediate reconstruction after all that mess with the ‘Faerghus Dukedom.’”

Another breeze blew past them, and Dorothea shivered, huddling closer into Sylvain’s arm. He instinctively wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close into his side. The way she easily settled into his soft side made him beam. He could feel her wrap her arm around his back, though her fingers could barely reach the other side of him. He felt incredibly warm at the sensation and reached his hand down to Dorothea’s hip, giving her a quick squeeze.

They walked together in silence for a while, holding each other close. Dorothea moved her other hand to Sylvain’s belly, aimlessly caressing him every now and then. He had to resist the urge to simply take Dorothea there amongst the trees, but he let himself imagine the way she would look pressed up against his burgeoning frame.

That was another benefit to his growing size, he found. Dorothea was quick to shower him with affection when they were alone, taking great care to find each new sensitive part of him. And new places seemed to appear regularly after every visit from the tailor.

Maybe once we return to the castle, she might indulge me, he thought mischievously.

“Thinking bawdy thoughts again, Margrave Gautier?” Dorothea tutted, playfully squeezing his side.

Sylvain felt himself flush, having forgotten once again that one of Dorothea’s skills was being able to see right through him.

“Can you blame me? With such a stunning beauty by my side, how could I resist?” he tried to respond as suave as possible, planting a kiss on the top of Dorothea’s head. “Besides, you’ll give a man the wrong impression, stroking his stomach like that.”

“I haven't seen them in over three years. I barely resemble the man they saw last.”

Dorothea hummed an understanding noise. “That's not a bad thing.”

“No, of course not. But…how would I even explain this?” Sylvain gingerly placed his hand on his large stomach, hanging over his belt. “A man doesn't become at least twice his size without some explanation.”

“You could say that all the dinners you took girls out for finally caught up with you,” Dorothea teased, resting her chin on the heel of her palm.

“Dorothea,” Sylvain said with a pleading whine.

“Okay, all the dinners you took me out to.”

He gave her a withering look before shuffling over to her and crossing his arms and resting them on top of his belly.

“If we're being transparent, you brought most of those dinners to me.”

Dorothea giggled in response before rising to her knees on the bed and then wrapping her arms around Sylvain’s neck. He tenderly dropped his arms and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her close and letting his belly press flush against her torso.

“I don't mind if you use that explanation,” she murmured, running her fingers through the shaggy, red hair on the back of Sylvain’s head. “I’ll take the blame for giving the world more of you.”

“How honorable,” Sylvain smiled, kissing Dorothea’s forehead. “But I’m to blame for this too. I like the way I am now.”

“So why worry over an explanation at all?” Her green eyes shimmered curiously.

Sylvain let out a spluttering sigh.

“Some part of me thinks they deserve one? They spent the majority of their lives knowing the irresponsible lout I was,” he said, burying his face in the crook of Dorothea's neck. “Maybe I owe them an apology for that.”

“I don't think you need to rehearse any kind of grand speech or anything like that.” Dorothea continued running her fingers through the hair that hung over the back of Sylvain's neck and he let out a content noise. “You enjoy good food and the winters here have been particularly harsh, what else is there to say?”

Sylvain felt a mischievous grin creep across his face.

“You mean, besides the way my wife adores the softest parts of me?”

He felt Dorothea's hand linger on the roundest part of his neck, then slowly trace her way to his double chin. She coaxed his head back up with a gentle touch, revealing his playful smile.

Dorothea gave him a knowing look before running her hands through his hair and pulling his head back enough for her to place a kiss right below his rounded jawline. The sensation made him shiver with delight and he awaited whatever move she would make next.

“Some things can stay secret, as I’m sure you know.”

Sylvain laughed, feeling Dorothea bob up and down with his stomach.

“Yeah, that one should probably stay secret.”

He looked at Dorothea, who simply stared at him with a deep affection that he often tried to remind himself he deserved. It made whatever anxiety he felt begin to settle and he tenderly drew his hand up and down her back.

“I guess I’ll just handle it as it comes?” he sighed.

Dorothea smiled, stroking his cheek with her thumb before cupping his soft face her in hand. “Knowing our former classmates and Professor, I highly doubt that they’ll make too big of a deal about you.”

Sylvain nodded with resigned agreement before sighing again and burying his face back in the crook of Dorothea’s neck.

***

Sylvain sat at his desk, half-written petition on a piece of parchment in front of him and pen dangling from his fingers while he tried to make the next words emerge from his thoughts.

It had been hard to focus on much when he knew that some of his old friends would be arriving in the coming days to attend the upcoming summit with Sreng. Despite his realization there was little he could say or do about his appearance, his anxiety over the ordeal did not lessen at all.

His friends would find out that Sylvain Jose Gautier became quite fat, and that he was largely unbothered by it. Delighted by it, in many cases, Sylvain thought, but he would keep that one to himself and his wife.

He let out a short groan before rubbing his face in frustration. He tried to focus himself again on his task when he heard his door open and somehow knew that this was the news he had been nervously awaiting.

“Felix is here, and he is demanding to spar with you,” Dorothea’s voice came from the doorway, sounding rather resigned.

Sylvain sighed long and slow, setting his pen down and then resting his head in his hand, slightly turning his head to see Dorothea walking toward him. At least he could take comfort in the fact that she was stunningly beautiful in an elegant, decorated dark blue dress with gold and red accents.

“Of course he is,” he grunted. “Three years apart and the man thinks sparring is an appropriate calling card.”

He looked down at himself for a moment, feeling briefly betrayed by the way his body and stomach seemed to billow out around him. But the feeling quickly disappeared when he felt Dorothea’s hand gently sink into his soft back. He then looked up at Dorothea, who had an apologetic look on her face.

He knew she did her best to try and dissuade Felix from demanding to spar as a greeting, but that was one thing his old friend would never budge on. He gave a wry smile before leaning his head further into his hand.

“Was hoping I’d at least be able to ease him into…my new stature.”

Dorothea quickly slipped herself closer to Sylvain’s chest, pressing into his belly and gracefully brushed a small lock of his red hair to the side with her fingers. Sylvain placed his hand on the small of her back, pulling her even closer into him.

“Shall I spar him in your place?” she offered sweetly.

Sylvain chuckled at the thought, of Dorothea in her elegant gown trading sword blows with Felix. He could see her taking him by surprise and taking a point with a dignified flourish–it wasn’t as if they spent all their time fattening Sylvain up. The Lord and Lady Gautier still had to be capable in battle, after all.

And it also wasn’t as if Sylvain was scared of the prospect of sparring itself, he did so regularly with the Gautier Knights. But it was anxiety over seeing the man he had promised to die together with after three years of little more than written correspondences.

“He’d never let me hear the end of it if you did,” Sylvain admitted with a resigned smile and a wave of his hand. He gave Dorothea’s back a gentle squeeze. “You’d slaughter him anyway.”

“You think that highly of my skills, milord?” Dorothea said with a playful gasp.

His resigned smile turned into a proud grin. “I’ve seen you terrorizing those Knights that underestimate you during training. Throw in a little magic? You’re unstoppable.”

“Oh, Felix wouldn’t stand for me using any magic on him during a swordfight.”

“All the more reason to do so, especially if he thinks swordfighting is the correct way to greet an old friend,” Sylvain trailed off into a grumble before nuzzling his head in between her arm and chest.

Dorothea laughed and ran her fingers through Sylvain’s hair.

“I’ll spar with him regardless and buy you a little time to build up your courage.”

Sylvain’s heart fluttered and he squeezed Dorothea tight against him with both arms, relishing the way she sunk into his fat stomach and chest.

Ashe was not frail by any means, a man more than capable of wielding an axe or a bow and riding all manner of beasts with great dexterity, but he was still much shorter than Dedue and quite slight in comparison.

Dedue’s solid, muscular frame was becoming increasingly padded with soft fat as he graciously ate every dish Ashe set in front of him. There were some nights he ate himself so full, Ashe feared he might burst. But he was unwilling to leave any trace of Ashe’s emotion-laden food on their plates, and it was those nights that Ashe was especially gentle as he led Dedue up to his room. He quickly discovered the exact ways to soothe Dedue’s body and skin, and they would drift off to sleep together.

However, during one afternoon visit, while the inn’s dining hall was bustling and full of life, Ashe noted something strange.

As Ashe reached to give an affectionate touch to Dedue’s hand, perhaps forgetting himself a bit and only thinking of his desire to feel his skin, Dedue responded with a strained, concerned look before quickly moving his hand to grab his empty glass.

The look and reaction was haunting to Ashe, and he did his best to swallow the lump of disappointment in his throat. His attention was pulled by another patron requesting more to drink, but the image remained in the back of his mind.

The day eventually came to a close, Dedue leaving at some point without Ashe noticing, which also served to compound the hurt settling in Ashe’s heart. He half-expected that Dedue would not return until at least the next evening, but was surprised to see him enter the dining hall right as Ashe walked to lock the doors.

They looked at each other awkwardly, Ashe’s stomach sinking as Dedue remained silent and just within the doorway.

“Dedue, did I…do something to offend you today?” Ashe asked carefully. “I’m sorry if I somehow misinterpreted something.”

Dedue was quiet, save for the sound of his inhaled breath, as if he was prepared to say something but struggling to form the words.

“I think we should be more prudent with our affections in public,” he finally spoke plainly. The even tone of Dedue’s deep voice stung Ashe, as if it was some kind of marching order for a soldier.

Confusion scrunched Ashe’s eyebrows together. “What–why?”

“Your business and the inn may be making a great impact on the impression of Faerghans about Duscur, but opinions are not so easily swayed on matters of the company you maintain. They do not believe that food is what killed King Lambert, but believe it was Duscur hands.”

Dedue’s demeanor was stern and distant, reminding Ashe of when he had first met him at Garreg Mach. The wall that was once between them had somehow been re-erected in less than a moment.

“You know that doesn’t matter to me. And it’s been proven that Duscur didn’t orchestrate the assassination.” Ashe steeled himself, clenching his fists in frustration.

Dedue’s own furrowed brow seemed to shift to something more desperate now. “We have become more than friends, Ashe. A relationship like this may damage what you have built. I…could not bear to see you hurt in any way as a result of my presence.”

Maybe in any other circumstance, Dedue’s concern would have been touching, but it only served to irritate Ashe. That people would still be willing to judge someone in such a way, but also that Dedue seemed to have so little faith in what Ashe had built. It was stronger than that. 

He was stronger than that.

“I wish you wouldn’t underestimate me and my inn,” Ashe sighed sharply. “But I suppose that would explain why you’ve come so late tonight.”

Dedue was silent, which only made Ashe’s heart begin to ache painfully.

“I wanted to tell you that I would be leaving with His Majesty tomorrow morning for Gautier Territory. I will not be visiting for some time…I wanted to tell you so as to not concern you with my absence.”

Ashe wanted to groan–he was unsure of what to make about this, that Dedue was worried for them expressing affection to each other in public, but also that he would worry for what Ashe would think at his disappearance from the inn.

“...Thank you for telling me, I suppose,” Ashe sighed again, now feeling very tired of the conversation.

Dedue simply nodded and then turned and left. Ashe locked the door behind him and then rubbed his eyes, hoping to dissuade his frustrated tears from falling.

---

Dedue stifled a sigh as he thought back to the sight of Ashe solemnly waving him goodbye at the castle. Even after the painful way he looked back at Dedue the previous night, he still appeared to show his support. Though it was masked by the fact that Dedue was leaving with Dimitri–it was for the best, Dedue still insisted to himself.

Since the morning they both confirmed their affections for each other, Dedue made a point of spending as much of his available time with Ashe as possible. But he felt guilty at the thought of allowing himself to be cared for–that he should be serving Dimitri or denying himself comfort in the name of duty, but seeing Ashe’s warm smile dashed most of those feelings.

And at times, the way Ashe sunk into his softened body was surreal, but also felt right. They said little in those moments, Ashe gently caressing his heavy stomach with a tenderness that seemed impossibly soft. It was nearly too gentle at times for Dedue to fathom.

His fingers would trace carefully over the various scars that covered his body, though as Dedue’s weight increased, his scars seemed to shrink. Logically, it was normal–his body was growing, and the scars would not necessarily grow with him. But in a poetic sense, it was as if Ashe’s care caused the horrors of Dedue’s past to slowly shrink as well.

However, now Dedue was traveling with Dimitri to Castle Gautier to meet Sylvain, the latest Margrave Gautier. Ashe was getting further and further away as the carriage they rode in continued on the path north from Fhirdiad.

He feared for Ashe’s safety. For his acceptance in Fhirdiad. A relationship with a man from Duscur would do little for his reputation.

Whatever comfort Dedue received from Ashe would mean little if it came at Ashe’s expense.

With every bump on the road, Dedue could feel the heft of his body wobble beneath his armor. Another reminder of himself–the threat his presence could pose to Ashe’s ambitions. Dimitri had said nothing about his weight, not that it had interfered with his ability to protect him–but on the contrary, Dimitri actually had commented on how Dedue regularly seemed more at ease as of late.

That concerned Dedue. Who was he to deserve that sort of feeling–to give that impression to others?

His mind continued to wander back to the warm bed he and Ashe shared a few nights earlier, even against his self-deprecating instincts. To feel Ashe place occasional feather-light kisses along his chest, allowing himself to revel in the fact that he allowed Ashe to change him and to give him a place he could call home once again.

While Dedue may have been getting farther from Ashe, the idea that Ashe’s touch and affection was always with him now begged to replace his fears for him. In the shrinking scars and the contrasting stretch marks appearing on the widest parts of him. In his softened chest and his heavy belly and thighs, and in his stern, yet rounding face.

Despite his attempt to silently steel his desires, he was now starting to ache for Ashe’s presence. Regretting what he said, wishing he would not have said anything at all and instead pressed a gentle kiss to Ashe’s forehead before leaving.

It would be some time before they would return to Fhirdiad. Sylvain was prepared to host them for a summit with Sreng to finalize a peace treaty he had been working on for the past few years.

Dedue looked out the window and could not stifle his sigh this time.

The trip was unremarkable, and they arrived at Castle Gautier with the sun shining overhead the next day. Dedue walked alongside Dimitri as they walked up the stone walkway to the stairs that led into Castle Gautier. Stablehands took the carriage to another part of the castle and valets assured them their things would be taken to their rooms.

The doors opened to the stately, yet somewhat cold decor of the Gautier Territory. But more surprisingly, a man Dedue both recognized and was unfamiliar with stood ahead of them. The striking red-orange hair was handsomely wavy and framed a smiling, rounded face. He was a wide, fat man, his large belly starting to hang over the waistline of his trousers. His wife, a beautiful woman in an elegant blue dress with cascading brown hair had her arm in his, further highlighting his size and the breadth of his chest and shoulders.

“Dimitri, Dedue! We’re glad you made it,” the man said with a smile, and the voice put to rest any doubt of who he was.

“Sylvain, Dorothea, it’s an honor to meet you here,” Dimitri said, seemingly unfazed by this new appearance of Sylvain Jose Gautier. Dedue followed suit, nodding his acknowledgement and appreciation.

“Don’t be so formal, you’re among friends,” Sylvain continued to smile, walking toward them. He took Dimitri’s hand in his and shook it, clapping Dimitri on the shoulder before turning to Dedue.

“And I’m glad to see His Majesty’s most loyal vassal in tow. You look well,” Sylvain said gently. Dedue felt something comforting–perhaps a little conspiring, even–in the way he spoke. “Both of you.”

Dorothea interjected by slipping her arm into Sylvain’s again and giving the men a warm smile. “The Summit won’t begin until next week, but we wanted to make sure all parties were briefed and that you had time to rest before attending.”

Sylvain nodded solemnly before cracking a now-mischievous smile. “And maybe I wanted to be a bit selfish and enjoy the company of my friends. I don’t doubt we have a lot to catch up on.”

And before Dedue knew it, Dimitri was escorted away to await the arrival of the Archbishop, and he was relieved of his duties for the afternoon–left with the gnawing regret that followed him all the way from where he left Ashe the night before last.

---

The large dinner that Sylvain and Dorothea hosted for everyone who had arrived at the castle was warm and lively, most attention placed on Annette’s pregnancy. Dedue nearly forgot about his own personal changes in the chatter until he realized that his appetite was still not sated well after nearly everyone else had finished. While the food provided for dinner was filling and enjoyable, it was also inevitable that his mind would wander back to Ashe and the food he so regularly prepared for Dedue.

He became so preoccupied in distracting himself from his feelings by refilling his plate over and over again that he did not realize that only him and Sylvain remained in the dining room, Sylvain similarly refilling his own plate.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s discovered the finer parts of dining,” Sylvain said teasingly. Dedue simply looked back at him, perhaps a little more aware of the similarities in their statures now, and gave a grunt.

“The fare you’ve provided is excellent,” he simply replied.

Sylvain gave a noncommittal shrug and smirked, as if he knew something Dedue did not. They both went quiet as they returned to their plates.

Before long, they had both finished, and Dedue found himself leaning back in his chair–decidedly, yet unintentionally stuffed. Sylvain appeared similarly, letting out a pleased sigh, then surprising Dedue from his growing discomfort.

“I’d been hoping I could catch you alone, Dedue. Will you join me on a short walk to the balcony?”

Dedue looked at him with only the barest curiosity in his gaze.

Sylvain was undeterred and smiled. “I’ve managed to catch up with everyone besides you, and I’m curious how life is treating you back in Fhirdiad. Let’s stretch our legs a bit.”

Sylvain stood from his chair with a grunt and motioned for Dedue to follow. He slowly rose to his feet, his overfull stomach settling downward.

They walked a little way through the hallways of the castle, Sylvain leading Dedue past a large hall and then to a little alcove that led outside to the crisp night air.

“Whew, feel that autumn air,” Sylvain sighed. “Great after a big meal.”

“The cold arrives here sooner than in Fhirdiad,” Dedue observed, crossing his arms on top of his stomach.

Sylvain looked at Dedue and grinned. “Imagine how the folks in Sreng must feel, they're already preparing for the freeze.”

Dedue simply replied with a grunt, looking out over the dark land, barely illuminated by starlight. The moon was missing, and Dedue got the impression that the land was attempting to remind him of his guilt.

“You’ve been distracted all evening,” Sylvain said, and Dedue looked at him with surprise.

“Has it been that obvious?” Dedue’s voice was low.

“Well, I may be a married man now, but I recognize the look of a man in trouble with love.”

Dedue stared at Sylvain, his gaze steely and focused. Sylvain stared back at Dedue, starting to wither a bit as he remained silent.

“...Though I’m not incapable of being wrong,” he stammered, shuffling around nervously and crossing his arms as well.

Dedue turned his gaze back to the dark landscape.

“Love. I don’t believe I’ve actually addressed it that way.”

He could feel Sylvain relax and heard a relieved, laughing sigh. “You made me doubt my intuition there for a moment.”

“All respect to you and your honesty with me, but you have never been much of an expert on,” Dedue paused, rolling the next word in his mouth, “love.”

“Oh, I beg to differ!” Sylvain shuffled forward, turning around and resting his back on the stony railing of the balcony. He was firmly in Dedue’s eyeline now, likely on purpose, he guessed. “I may have been a heartbreaker, but you have to be an expert on love to break hearts.”

Dedue stifled a disapproving grunt, simply staring back at Sylvain. His body was vastly larger and softer than it once was, but he still held himself in the undeniably Sylvain-like way he recalled from their time at Garreg Mach.

“Your point being?” Dedue asked flatly.

“My point being,” he said with an anticipatory sigh, “you don’t have anyone to talk to about this.” He paused, then gave a pointed glance at Dedue’s belly. “About that, if I can be so bold.”

Suddenly, Dedue’s body felt very heavy around him.

“Dimitri tells me that your time isn’t only spent at the castle in Fhirdiad,” Sylvain continued with a small smile. “And that Ashe has opened an increasingly-popular inn in the Capital?”

Even the mention of Ashe’s name dredged up everything Dedue had been trying to suppress.

“He’s been working hard to share Duscur cuisine with everyone, and I…found myself drawn to his efforts.”

“Ashe was always a great cook, and so were you. Sounds like a good match of talents to me.”

“I haven’t told His Majesty about my own personal feelings on the matter.”

Sylvain laughed. “I don’t think you would ever need to. Dimitri knows you very well.”

“I…dearly care for Ashe,” Dedue finally admitted, his heart aching. “But I fear I might have hurt him deeply before I left.”

Sylvain’s smile turned to something more solemn and concerned. He stayed silent, giving Dedue space to continue.

Dedue’s heart began to pound hard, the feeling trying to reach his ears.

“I’m concerned for his increasing connection to me. Despite my loyalty to Dimitri, I’m not unaware of the suspicion that the public at large still has for me.”

With no response from Sylvain besides his stare, Dedue looked up to find the stars in the sky.

“I warned him against showing his affections to me in public.”

Sylvain let out a pensive hum. “And you think that having a seat at his inn every night doesn’t give others the same impression?”

“That is what I came to realize recently. I can’t risk damaging his efforts and all the work he’s put into the inn.”

“Dedue, Ashe isn’t a helpless little boy.”

Sylvain’s gently-chastising tone surprised Dedue.

“Friendship is one matter,” Dedue tried to argue, “but romantic implications between a Faerghan and a man of Duscur is something else entirely.”

“Come on, Dedue,” Sylvain said with a moan that tugged at Dedue’s anger.

“Do not downplay my concerns for Ashe’s safety.”

Sylvain rose from the railing and walked closer to Dedue. “Then don't downplay Ashe’s fortitude. He grew up on the streets of Faerghus, then saw the man that took him in, die in front of him.”

Dedue’s stare was hard, but Sylvain was more serious than he had seen in some time. His size made the prospect of him bearing down on Dedue, even with his own increased weight, somewhat concerning.

“Are you happy with him?”

His jaw clenched, Dedue did not want to answer the question.

“Is he happy with you, then?” Sylvain prodded further.

The warm memory of Dedue waking up with Ashe buried in his softening chest, a faint, yet content smile on his face bubbled up and drew a resigned sigh from his lips.

“...Yes,” Dedue replied.

“Then that’s all you need to be concerned about.” Sylvain gently patted Dedue’s arm. “People will always talk. They’ll think what they like. Let them.”

Dedue looked back at Sylvain, a sense of nostalgia washing over him. The best parts of Sylvain appeared to remain within him.

“Sylvain,” Dedue started. Sylvain looked at him intently. “Are you happy?”

Sylvain let out a chuckle and stepped back a bit. He turned to look out into the darkness that sprawled out below, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips.

“I am. I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

Another sigh escaped Dedue’s lips and he closed his eyes, taking a moment to silently apologize to Ashe.

“Does my weight not immediately give it away?” Sylvain joked, throwing a wink in Dedue’s direction. “You’ve got a ways to go before you look like me, but I’ll definitely have to try Ashe’s cooking the next time we come to Fhirdiad.”

“He would appreciate that.” Now that the sudden tension was dissipating, Dedue took a deep breath and remembered how full his stomach was. He wished that Ashe was near, so they could retreat to bed and Ashe could soothe him with his pleasant and deliberate massaging.

“Are you happy, Dedue?” Sylvain asked quietly, but clearly.

Dedue pulled at the sleeve of his shirt, arms still crossed and resting on his belly.

“I will be once I am back in Fhirdiad.”

Sylvain let out a pleased hum.

“Make sure you tell Ashe that, okay?”

---

Weeks had passed since Dedue and King Dimitri had left for Gautier Territory, and Ashe remained busy at the inn. Business steadily continued to increase, and word of the delicious Duscur fare he was serving spread throughout Fhirdiad. People came eagerly asking for specific dishes, asking for them by name and praising the flavors of the country that had been hated for so long.

But the seat that was normally saved for Dedue was regularly occupied by other patrons. And Ashe was acutely aware of the emptiness of his bed at night. He was aware of the painful distance Dedue put between them the night before he left.

He worked tirelessly to keep from missing Dedue too much, and to think of what his relationship with him was now, but it was difficult when the smells in the kitchen and the sounds of the bustling dining room only seemed to highlight his absence. 

Despite his frustration with Dedue’s attempt to keep him at arm’s length, he also hoped that whatever Sylvain was doing to host His Majesty and his loyal vassal would keep them warm and well-fed.

Ashe had grown very fond of how soft Dedue was becoming and how he dutifully cleaned every plate he put in front of him, full of the love he hoped Dedue could feel. He was glad to soothe and care for Dedue, a man who had given his entire life in service of Dimitri and in protecting others. It was the least he deserved for his long-suffering loyalty and kindness. Warm meals and a warm home to return to.

He had thought that Dedue felt the same on some level, but now it was unclear.

News had also arrived of the successful treaty between Faerghus and the Sreng Territory to the north, and Ashe felt a rush of excitement in his heart. If an agreement had been reached to find peace, it gave Ashe hope that the same would be achieved for Duscur. Perhaps if Ashe could heal whatever wounds lingered in the public, Dedue could feel safe enough to trust his affections to Ashe.

He was energized to hold a celebration of sorts during the week at the inn, hoping to capitalize on the energy he could sense on the streets of Fhirdiad. He would make more food to hand out as samples and decorate the inn before the dining hall opened for the day.

It was brisk outside, the full force of winter slowly descending upon Faergus. Ashe’s breath puffed up in white clouds as he carried large blue swaths of fabric to hang above and below the windows of the inn. He looked up at the top of the windows, letting out a short sigh before focusing on the parts of the windows he could easily reach.

The streets were relatively quiet this early in the morning. There was the occasional set of footfalls that passed behind Ashe as he hung the fabric, but he was focused on his task and the way his knuckles began to turn red in the cold.

He had finished the lower level of window decorations, and was preparing to gauge how he would get the fabric above the windows, when he felt something warm and soft press flush against his back and a low grunt as someone reached above him.

Ashe turned his head to see a familiar-looking scarf in his eyeline, and then looked further up to see Dedue looking up as he easily reached above the window with a swath of blue fabric and hung it on the hooks above.

His heart leapt into his throat as he saw the comforting, round line of Dedue’s jaw and feeling his soft belly pressed against him. It seemed as if he was even bigger than he was before he left.

Against his best intentions, he was relieved to see him.

“You’re home,” Ashe said with an excited breath.

Dedue smiled as he finished with the fabric, then looked gently as Ashe with a smile. “I am sorry I was gone for so long. And I am sorry for the way I left.”

Ashe’s heart did another leap, realizing that Dedue was still firmly pressed against him–unmoving and unwavering.

“It was for a good reason–we all got the news here,” he stammered, turning slightly, his shoulder and arm pressed into Dedue’s stomach, the man not budging an inch. “A-and you’re back now…safe and sound.”

Astarion discovered himself to be ravenous when Gale’s personal cooking was laid in front of him. While blood would always be his preferred meal, there was something irresistible about eating what was made by loving hands–hands that loved him.

And he found Gale to be no slouch when it came to second, and sometimes third helpings. However, he noted that Gale was more eager to encourage Astarion to eat his fill and then some, regularly pushing delectable cuts of red meat and hearty, warm sauces toward him. Gale quickly proved himself a talented chef, presenting buttery, flaky pastries and breads, delectable pies and desserts, and even savory blood-based puddings and sausages that helped to slightly satisfy his bloodthirst.

It didn’t take long for Astarion’s waistline to expand under Gale’s constant care, the wizard even regularly securing livestock for Astarion to drink from. Even with Gale taking a job as a professor at Blackstaff Academy, Astarion found himself often spoiled and cared for by the man.

It was no more than a year and a half when Astarion realised just how big he had grown, Gale hungrily running his hands up his soft, wide thighs and burgeoning stomach as they lie in bed together. He remembered the night he glutted himself on blood to the point of near-immobility, his belly now naturally distended to the size he could recall from that night.

He shivered, pulling closer to Gale, feeling his pudgy arms pressing against his full chest. Gale’s warm hands explored Astarion’s wide belly, before trailing up to his rounded cheeks and drew him into a long, slow kiss. Gale’s beard tickled Astarion’s fattened neck and chin.

Gods, sunlight was nothing compared to this, he thought.

“Oh, Star, you’re so soft,” Gale murmured, pressing kisses into Astarion’s neck. Astarion grinned, taking Gale’s face in his hands and kissing him deeply again.

“Thanks to your efforts, you know,” Astarion hummed, trailing his finger down to the tattoo marking Gale’s now-dormant Netherese Orb on his soft chest.

“You took to being spoiled incredibly well. I think Tara is a bit jealous.”

Astarion chuckled, his stomach bobbing up and down. “The tressym and I have an understanding.”

Gale looked curiously at Astarion. “Oh? Since when?”

“That’s between me and her, you know,”

“Secrets kept from me? In my own home?” Gale said, playfully feigning offense.

Astarion arched an eyebrow, grinning and tracing his fingers down to Gale’s side. “The two creatures you love most in the world are entitled to their sacred camaraderie.”

“Well, you won’t find me complaining. You two didn’t exactly get along right away.”

“I can’t blame the poor creature, this has been her territory for so long–you invited an absolute rake, a rascal even, into her home!” Astarion teased, his fingers now trailing over Gale’s soft stomach. “You ought to be more wary of who you allow into your home, Professor Dekarios.”

“Ah, very well,” Gale laughed before pressing a kiss to Astarion’s shoulder, glancing up at him with a hungry look in his eyes. “You’ve made your point. Though…you’re not so threatening anymore, you know.”

A delighted shiver ran up Astarion’s spine, his soft body trembling. He gently squeezed what he could grab of Gale’s belly, then slid his fingers between his skin and the waist of his trousers.

“Hmm, more space there than I expected,” he hummed.

“Is that so?”

Astarion looked expectantly at Gale. “You ate quite a bit less than usual at dinner tonight.”

“...Is that so?” Gale murmured, a little less confidently now.

The vampire snapped a little more to attention. “Is it the orb?” He asked in a hushed tone.

Gale’s eyes widened and he let out a relieved sigh. “No, no, not at all. I appreciate your concern for me, though.”

Astarion looked back at Gale, awaiting his next response. Gale realised this and let out a small, nervous laugh.

“It’s, ah, rather the opposite I suppose…?” Gale continued, carefully arranging a curly lock of Astarion’s white hair. “I…hmm. I find myself…hungering again as of late. But not for traces of Weave.”

“For how long?” Astarion’s eyes wandered back to Gale’s chest, then up to his eyes again.

“A little while now, since the new classes started.”

“And the reasonable thing to do is deny yourself?” Astarion sighed, pressing his belly into Gale’s. He was a little shocked to find how much he actually outsized Gale now.

“No, of course not,” Gale stammered, though Astarion was unsure if it was due to him helplessly fishing for an excuse or if he realised how big Astarion was now too.

“I just…want to understand it before I give into it,” he continued, caressing Astarion’s belly.

“You’re just normally hungry, right? Well, hungrier.”

Gale started to blush, closing his eyes in mild embarrassment. “As far as I can tell, yes.”

“There's nothing wrong with that,” Astarion said in a low voice, taking Gale’s hand on his belly and slowly moving it up to his breast. Gale was quiet, gently squeezing Astarion’s soft chest, before burying his face in the pillowy crook of his neck.

“Do I deserve to let myself feel as such?” Gale murmured, almost a whisper.

A twinge of anger at whatever Mystra did to this poor, sweet man that still had some hold on him pulled at his heart and he stroked the back of Gale’s neck.

“I believe you do,” Astarion said matter-of-factly. “Mystra or whatever other Gods be damned.”

That drew a surprising laugh from Gale and he pulled away enough from Astarion to look in his eyes.

His eyes looked weary, yet relieved.

Astarion kissed the orb’s marking on Gale’s chest, then nuzzled his neck with his soft cheek. “You let me indulge my hunger. Allow me the honour of getting to spoil you as well.”

“You’ve spoiled me enough with your presence, Star,” Gale tried offering, but Astarion shook his head.

“Oh no, no, no,” Astarion tutted. “No more of that. Though if you must, imagine you’re still indulging me by letting me,” he paused, trailing his hand from the back of Gale’s neck to press his finger to his chin. “Indulge you.”

Much to Astarion’s surprise, Gale pressed his lips to Astarion’s and kissed him deeply, furiously. It took nothing for Astarion to reciprocate, gently cradling his face and wrapping one of his thick legs around Gale’s.

“Consider me,” Gale said breathlessly between kisses, “thoroughly convinced, then.”

***

Gale was a bit surprised that Astarion insisted on handling dinner the next evening. Well, not entirely surprised, remembering the hungry look in his eyes after Gale agreed to let himself be spoiled.

And so at Astarion’s command, Gale sat in a comfortable chair by the fireplace, Tara cozy in his lap. He watched Astarion quickly waddle back and forth between the pantry and the kitchen, gently stroking the tressym’s back. It was utterly charming, watching the once-lithe elf wear his now-impressive weight so effortlessly.

Food had been coming into the tower all afternoon, and Gale felt a little nervous at just how much Astarion had planned for him. Though the nervousness gave way to the hunger Gale had been trying to suppress for a few tendays at this point, and he tentatively let it seep into his body and mind.

It was different from the magical hunger he had once grappled with, very much settling in his stomach–but it was deep and primal. A longing ache to be filled, though the method was less difficult to secure. 

And far less likely to result in a city-leveling explosion, he thought, amused.

He let his thoughts wander to an evening before they descended below Baldur’s Gate to locate Orin and rescue Lae’zel, Shadowheart summoning a Heroes’ Feast for them–perhaps as a sort of last hurrah, a final celebration on the chance that they fell to Bhaal’s chosen. Hearty stews, honeyed ham, grilled meats, berry tarts, succulent wine–it almost made him wish he was a Cleric instead of a Wizard.

There was a near-fatal blow Gale took from the fearsome Slayer, and he remembered wishing that he would have grabbed at least one more serving of ham or another berry tart if he was to perish. But the next thing he knew, Astarion was pulling him to his feet, forbidding him to die.

Gale absently rubbed at the tattoo on his chest, returning to this present moment and caught sight of Astarion happily setting the table. A grin pulled at Gale’s lips as he admired the shapely way Astarion’s white shirt hugged his belly and sides. It was near identical to the white shirt he wore during their journey together, but he had quickly outgrown what few clothes he still owned once he moved into Gale’s tower with him.

He was surprised at how delighted Astarion was to still go out and find a new wardrobe to accommodate his growing figure. A lesser man would have been ashamed of it–Gale remembered bashfully leaving his tower to find a tailor to let out his own clothing after secluding himself for months.

Astarion had been there from the beginning with the worm, at their own personal lowest points. And now they were here, safe and sound, sharing a home and caring for each other.

This was looking to be a fascinating and illuminating adventure with Astarion at the helm.

“He’s surprisingly diligent, Mister Dekarios,” Tara purred, stretching out in Gale’s lap and disrupting his thoughts. “Especially given how much he naps.”

“Oh, if only you had traveled with us, Tara,” Gale said with a sigh, smoothing the fur on Tara’s head. “He was a man of many surprises. And he deserves as many naps as he wants.”

“You tell Tara that if she can keep her judgements to a minimum, I have a lovely fish in here with her name on it,” Astarion’s voice called from the kitchen, his white head quickly peeking from the corner before returning to work.

“Hear that, Tara? He’s thinking of you too,” Gale said, scratching between her ears.

“Hmm…clever elf,” Tara murmured proudly as she fluffed out her wings before hopping from Gale’s lap to likely observe Astarion a little more closely.

Gale smiled wide, leaning his elbow on the armrest to rest his chin on his knuckles while he waited for Astarion to finally summon him for dinner. Then like clockwork, Astarion emerged from the kitchen for the last time. He bowed theatrically, then motioned at the table.

“Gale Dekarios,” Astarion announced, a pleased and somewhat mischievous grin on his face. “Dinner is served.”

Then as if he were a whirlwind, Astarion got Gale to a seat, and piled his plate high with all sorts of delectable-looking fare. It was far more food than Gale would have gotten for himself, but he was determined to trust his beloved Star to care for him. It was a bit of an uncomfortable feeling to let himself be waited upon by someone he loved so dearly, but he pushed through it, picking up a fork and spearing a lovely-looking chunk of honeyed ham.

He glanced at Astarion’s place at the table next to his, his plate also piled high with food–perhaps even the same amount he put on Gale’s.

Astarion looked at him expectantly as he approached with a tantalising-looking bottle of Ithbank. Gale understood the look on his face and nodded, taking his first bite of ham and recognising that it would be a delightfully long evening.

***

Gale leaned back in his chair, his stomach feeling full up to his ribs. He was noticeably bloated and he rested a hand on the crest of his belly. By all accounts, he should have been incredibly uncomfortable, but perhaps the food was too delicious and his company was too lovely to dampen his mood. However, there was also still a fair amount of food left on Gale’s plate.

He was not unaware of the constant glances from Astarion while he ate, and now the curious way he watched as Gale tried to find a comfortable position for his full stomach.

He was also aware of the aching hunger that still seemed to sit deep in his torso. It was perplexing and intriguing, to know he was full but his body still somehow wanted more. Gale was unsure of how exactly to proceed, though he had a feeling he might find himself at Astarion’s direction for whatever came next.

“So, darling, are you still hungry?” Astarion asked, finishing the final slice of meat on his plate. Gale noted the way Astarion’s stomach was also now swelled out impressively against his shirt, rolling out into his lap.

“Well…my body feels like it couldn’t take another bite, but…” Gale started, patting the top of his stomach.

Astarion’s curiosity was fully piqued now, his red eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “But…?”

Gale chuckled, the breath in his lungs struggling to make room–fully at odds with the gnawing hunger that still lie deep within his belly.

“I don’t believe I have the fortitude to want to stop. It’s a bit alarming, if I can be honest. Reminds me a touch of when I feared the orb was destabilsing,” Gale mused, joining his other hand to the one resting on his belly. He saw the concern flash in Astarion’s eyes and he gave him a reassuring smile.

“Though it’s not quite like that. Just…a hunger that isn’t quite satisfied yet. The last time I felt this way, lives were in danger.” Gale sighed, pushing the memory from his mind before looking down at the swell of his stomach toward his lap. “The only thing in danger now is my waistband. And perhaps the furniture.”

“Do you want to take this slowly?” Astarion asked, leaning in toward Gale from his chair. “Do you think you…could eat more?”

Gale couldn’t help but smile at Astarion’s poorly-disguised fascination and excitement. He was aware of the way his hands kneaded and brushed against Gale’s own doughy stomach.

“I’m quite flattered that you want even more of me,” he chuckled.

“I want more of both of us,” Astarion said with a devilish grin.

Gale could feel his cheeks flush and warmth pool between his legs. “Oh, how greedy.”

“Well,” Astarion started, stammering a bit while his fingers waggled nervously. “I’d also like to see if we can’t satisfy this hunger of yours. How much would it take to get it to quiet down?”

Gale simply arched an eyebrow curiously at Astarion.

Astarion huffed before recollecting himself and folding his arms on top of his wide belly. “We should consider this an experiment, Gale. Like you do with your students” He paused, his shoulders relaxing and he glanced at the floor before looking back up at Gale. “And…I don’t want my wizard hungry, needing, or anything like that. Not anymore.”

Gale found himself frozen by Astarion’s gentle admission.

Despite all the time spent with Astarion and living a relatively normal life in Waterdeep again, the idea that anyone wanted Gale’s needs to be fully met was still alien and uncomfortable. Tara had been the only other being that seemed to want that for him, until now.

As Astarion’s cherubic face pleaded with him, the hunger deep within Gale’s body seemed a little less unpredictable. Less frightening.

Perhaps this was a result of his years of deprivation, of only seeking Mystra’s secrets, of half-considering fcrsaking the mortal world in pursuit of a greatness he thought he had been denied.

Now there was a beautiful creature in front of him, soft and cared for by his hand, who deeply understood what it meant to be enslaved to one’s hunger. And he wanted to make sure Gale was fulfilled.

How could he deny himself any longer? How could he deny his brilliant Star?

Gale simply laughed softly after a moment, nodding at Astarion. “Very well. How could I argue with that?”

Astarion’s expression brightened and he drew even closer to Gale, placing a hand on his knee.

“Then would you…let me feed you?”

Gale was now frozen for a different reason. For whatever reason, the idea of Astarion feeding him made his body burn and ache with desire. He resisted the urge to shuffle in his seat, arousal building in his core.

“Gods, I would love nothing more,” Gale finally choked out, his heart racing.

Astarion’s expression turned devious, his eyes gleaming hungrily. Gale had very obviously shown his hand, giving his lover all the power to tease and tantalise–but at this point, the wizard was glad to relinquish what little control he had left.

Before Gale knew it, there were more helpings of their dinner and several luscious tarts spread across the table.

Astarion wasted no time in pressing another forkful of pork to Gale’s mouth, and Gale gladly obeyed. It made little sense, but coming from Astarion’s hand seemed to make the taste of the pork even more rich and delectable.

Each forkful and spoonful began blending into each other, Gale feeling himself swell further and further. He fully gave himself to Astarion’s care, and soon the plate was empty. But the tarts still remained.

Gale groaned, his hand rubbing over his belly, tight against his shirt. The hunger still lingered, if not a little bit sated. His breathing was shallow and laboured, but he was pleased.

He closed his eyes, trying to savour the feeling of just how full and round he was. A glutting like this only possible in his dreams, he thought.

He gasped when he felt Astarion’s cool hands slip under his shirt and begin to pull it up, releasing its restraint of Gale’s belly. The relief he felt was instantaneous, his taut stomach rolling out further and starting to reach his lap.

“There we go,” he heard Astarion coo, then feeling his hands caressing his warm skin. “Ready for dessert?”

Gale shivered at the thought, his belly trying to wobble under Astarion’s hands. But the fullness was becoming undeniable.

“A…a moment,” Gale groaned again, helplessly rubbing the top of his stomach.

Gods, he was full. He was unsure that he had ever felt this way in his life, and he was shocked that any part of him still wanted more.

And like a soothing balm, Astarion began tenderly rubbing and massaging his belly.

A pleased moan escaped Gale’s throat and he let his legs spread open wide. His belly eagerly tried to occupy the space between his thighs.

“Oh, what a good pup…” Astarion crooned, massaging more firmly now.

Gale’s eyes flew open and he nearly leapt out of his chair at the little praise, his pants now tightening. The sudden movement also surprised Astarion, but he quickly understood the reaction and quickly resumed his ministrations.

Gale felt his face and ears flush obscenely hot and he tried his best to steady his breathing.

“How obvious this should have been, hm?” Astarion murmured, his hands now traveling underneath Gale’s swollen belly. “Gale Dekarios deserves his praise, doesn’t he?”

“Astarion…” Gale could only stammer, his body now becoming a collection of feelings he had been accustomed to smothering. Heat pooled everywhere and anywhere it could fill, and Gale gripped the armrests of his chair.

“Shh, shh, we’re not quite done yet, you know.”

Astarion slowly removed his hands from Gale’s belly, now reaching for one of the tarts on the table.

It was filled to the brim with beautifully ripe berries, the pastry glazed perfectly and crusted with large granules of sugar.

Then, as if in a trance, Gale opened his mouth to await the tart. Astarion looked a bit surprised for a moment before smiling and quickly feeding him.

The tart was sweet, sour, juicy, flaky, soft, and Gale quickly swallowed, prepared for the next bite. It didn’t take long for the tart to disappear, and Gale’s stomach domed further. A small flicker of hunger still remained, though, and Gale was determined to bury it.

“Another, please,” he rasped, his hand rubbing every inch of his exposed belly.

“Oh, very good, Gale,” Astarion cooed playfully, rubbing Gale’s stomach as well. The vampire gladly acquiesed and pulled another tart close.

Gale’s pace slowed, but he still dutifully took every bite from Astarion. His stomach tried protesting the disappearing space, but Gale was focused on silencing the hunger with Astarion’s help.

It took another tart and a half, but the ache to be filled was quiet at last. Gale groaned in pain and satisfaction at his and Astarion’s victory.

“Look at you,” Astarion whispered in awe. “You ate so well for me. Is the hunger gone?”

Gale wanted only to ruminate on Astarion’s praise, but he nodded his head and slumped a little further in his chair in an attempt to make more room for his overfull stomach.

“It’s…gone,” he huffed, giving his belly a shake but surprised to find just how little give it had.

“Now we know,” Astarion said, pausing to plant a kiss on the top of Gale’s stomach. “What to do when it comes back.”

Goosebumps erupted over Gale’s skin at the sensation of Astarion’s soft lips on his taut skin.

“Gods, Astarion, is this how you felt…that night in the forest?” Gale moaned, his hand caressing his underbelly.

“It’s likely,” Astarion said with a grin. “Depraved, proud, heavy, satisfied…aroused?”

“I’m not sure…how I would even move from here,” Gale grunted, giving his belly a slight heft with his hand. “I apologize…for making you move that night. Hells.”

Astarion continued to run his hands over Gale’s belly, gently rubbing and massaging the sides every now and then. “No, you were right to do so…a forest isn’t the proper place for a stuffing, I realised once you got me into bed.”

Gale simply nodded, unable to form a response as Astarion slowly massaged him. He would gladly stay like this forever if he could. Fed to bursting by the man he loved more than anything, his hands tenderly caring for him.

“You’re beautiful, Gale, do you know that?” Astarion said in a low voice. “Look at you…”

“Star…if I wasn’t pinned down, I would take you right here,” Gale replied slowly, a burp working its way through his words.

“That could still be arranged.”

Gale tried to rock his hips forward, but his immensely full belly kept him from fully doing so. “Hells, Gods, and whatever is in between, please don’t tease me.”

Astarion laughed, the sound like music to Gale’s ears.

“Come, Gale, let’s get you into bed. I have more praise I wish to rain upon you and your…” Astarion purred, curling himself around Gale’s belly. “Accomplishment.”

The sensation of Astarion’s softness against Gale’s tight stomach was shockingly delicious, and for a split second Gale was eager to be able to do the same for Astarion one day. If Gale ate like this reguarly enough, it would be quite soon.

Gale moaned loudly as he tangled his hand in Astarion’s curly, white hair.

He slowly rocked himself out of the chair as Astarion slowly backed away, holding tight to Gale’s hands. A coordinated push-and-pull got Gale out of the chair and to wobbly legs.

His belly sank downward, the weight surprising and exciting Gale. They shuffled him into their room and slowly onto the lavish bed, the silk sheets personally chosen by Astarion the first night they arrived.

Gale slowly moved himself into a comfortable position, propped up by pillows. Astarion was almost glued to his side, curling up close to Gale.

Gale reached out and brushed against Astarion’s soft belly, then trailing up and cradling his round chin in his hand. He pulled him closer for a kiss, his other hand firm on his packed stomach and rubbing gratefully.

Astarion pressed his fat body against Gale’s, as if he was filling any empty spaces with himself and resumed rubbing his belly.

“You are so brilliant, Gale,” Astarion mumured. “Such a good pup.”

Gale shivered again, giving his belly a shake and admiring now how little it wobbled.

“I hope you know that I will be making sure you are well and spoiled. I would like to see this,” Astarion said, stroking Gale’s belly. “As much as possible.”

“I look forward to it…” Gale said, the tightness of his stomach giving way to warmth. He felt drowsiness starting to come on and he would welcome it with open arms.

But before he could fully fade into sleep, he felt Astarion move from his side and begin straddling his hips. His eyes opened in surprise, and he watched as Astarion removed his shirt.

His stomach billowed out first, his pale skin looking like porcelain. His breasts followed, resting beautifully on top of his belly. His arms wobbled as he tossed his shirt onto the floor, and he pressed himself against Gale’s drum-tight belly.

“I need to feel this from every angle.” Astarion sighed lovingly, rubbing up and down, his belly and hips rocking back and forth against Gale.

“Star…” Gale could only moan, brushing his hand against Astarion’s soft stomach and rolls.

“I’ll take good care of you, my love,” Astarion said in a husky voice, pressing more of his weight onto Gale. “Just like you’ve done for me.”

Theo was not a small man by any means, quite muscular and bulky himself, and he knew Charlotte liked him that way. He knew she liked big men, which was part of why they started dating in the first place.

They got on like a house on fire, immediately falling in love with each other and sharing hobbies and interests. Charlotte was kind and sweet and fun and endlessly attractive with beautiful, black, wavy hair and near-black eyes, deep and easy to get lost in.

He considered himself incredibly lucky to have landed her, and sometimes that translated into a bit of a need to do whatever he could to make sure she was happy. This wild train of thought was his latest attempt at this.

Though on the other hand, Charlotte was much of the same. She loved watching Theo show off his gains from the gym and would cook delicious meals after a strenuous workout. She praised him often and comforted him when he needed it. She encouraged him to reach his goals. She could rarely be seen without her hands on his skin in some way or another, always trying to be in physical contact with him.

And he…he couldn't bear to lose that.

So he had to get bigger. To his mind, it would be a surefire way to keep Charlotte around. More of him for her to touch and grab.

He ate even more furiously, his stomach starting to protest against his jeans.

He would load and bulk up tonight, cutting the rest tomorrow at the gym. He’d put these calories to work and grow.

Though…a small part of his mind didn't mind if his belly pooched out or if his muscles were padded with a nice layer of fat. It would only make him look bigger, give him more leverage to lift heavier and heavier weights, and in turn make him even bigger.

He imagined Charlotte's eyes looking him all over as she returned to him, his arms and chest pumped and heavy.

Some might call this a dirty bulk, but…bulk was bulk to Theo at this moment in time. He was desperate to fight against his spiral, and the only solution that seemed to stop his brain was preparing calories and energy to change into gains.

He would sleep soundly once the pizza was gone, knowing he’d be big for Charlotte.

***

The day of Charlotte's return arrived, and Theo struggled to button the nice shirt he had bought a few months ago. His stomach firmly fought against the buttons with every closure he managed.

He exhaled long, trying to flatten his torso enough to close up the shirt. With some effort, he managed, but in the mirror it was evidently clear he was one sudden movement away from popping the buttons off.

Perhaps his dirty bulking worked too well.

Even his arms strained in the short sleeves, the lack of stretch emphasizing their size.

He heard the doorknob start to turn and he rushed out to the living room, the shirt’s buttons creaking slightly.

He got into place, eagerly watching as Charlotte walked in, her smile wide and relieved.

“Theo…” she said happily, like music to Theo’s ears.

He rushed to hug her, sighing happily as he felt her arms wrap around and squeeze his torso.

Where she belonged.

“You look good, Theo,” Charlotte murmured, rubbing his back.

Theo's stomach somersaulted at her touch and comment, and he felt vindicated. It had worked. She was happy.

“Thought I might…work hard to bulk up a little extra for when you got back,” he admitted. “It’s surprising how much I could do in two weeks.”

“Aw, for me?” Charlotte giggled, looking up at Theo. Her cheeks were flushed pink and she gave his side a squeeze.

“Always for you.”

They hugged close again, breathing slowly and happily.

All was well again. Or so Theo thought.

“I…wanted to talk to you…a little about this, actually,” Charlotte said reluctantly, patting his stomach and then rubbing his arm.

Theo's heart dropped, immediately thinking of the worst case scenario. Her return had been amazing, what could she mean?

“Nothing bad, really!” Charlotte gasped, sensing Theo's fear. “But I just…I mean, I was thinking about it while I was gone and how you know I like how big you are…”

Theo looked at Charlotte curiously, his fear starting to dissipate a bit. She was blushing dark now, looking at her hands as she wrung them together.

“I kept thinking of you the whole trip…and how I…I’ve been wondering just how big you want to get? And if maybe…I don't know, I’m sorry–”

“Do you like this? The muscle and…the little extra?” Theo asked quietly, gesturing at himself.

“I love the muscle, but Theo…seeing you stretching this shirt–you’ve only worn it once before, and it was almost a little loose.” Charlotte laughed nervously, pushing some hair behind her ear. “If your ‘little extra’ did that…I…”

Her pause sent a shiver through Theo.

She looked at him longingly. “I want so much more.”

Theo looked at Charlotte in shock. A slow smile crept across his lips, pulling her in a tight hug.

“I…got a little jealous seeing you in those pictures with…what's his name, the big guy… Paul?” He sighed.

Charlotte let out a sad little whine. “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby.”

“No, no, it's not your fault, but…I just…wanted to be the big guy you’re always next to. I…let myself get carried away in my thoughts and just wanted to be there in his place, so badly.”

Charlotte laughed, squeezing Theo’s middle.

Theo moaned out a sigh, relishing the way her arms wrapped around him. She could barely reach her arms all the way around him.

His thoughts wandered to future possibilities. What if her arms couldn't reach totally around him at all…? If there was so much of him she’d never get bored…to lay on him at night, comfortable and warm.

“So, so badly, Charlotte…” Theo moaned in a low voice, his thoughts putting him in a warm, longing haze.

She squeezed him again, rubbing her cheek on his chest, the fabric of his shirt pulled tight and smooth over him.

Charlotte pulled away, Theo placing his hands on her hips. She trailed her fingers up the straining buttons, picking at the little bunches of fabric where the shirt closed.

She smiled, tapping the top button with her finger, looking up at Theo.

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were tantalizingly dark. Theo felt his own cheeks heat up as all of Charlotte's fingers now rested on the same button.

With a small pop, Charlotte skillfully pushed the button through the hole, and his shirt opened in slight relief.

He silently begged her to keep going.

Charlotte's fingers trailed down to the next button, doing the same. His shirt opened more and more eagerly with every undone button, revealing his soft skin.

She reached the final button, his pooching belly freed from the shirt.

Theo let out a sigh of relief, finally registering just how tight the shirt was.

She hummed appreciatively and ran her hands over his stomach, gently dragging her nails over his skin. She patted his stomach, making him jiggle slightly.

Theo chuckled, placing his hands on hers.

It seemed like he and Charlotte were on the same page.

“Would you…be okay with getting nice and big for me? Maybe…a little less gym time and a little more eating time with me?” She looked up at him with big, wide eyes.

Theo blushed, running his thumb over her cheek. “Something tells me you’ve given this some thought already.”

“Well…I had a lot of alone time at night. Missing you…and maybe sometimes I let my thoughts run away with me…”

“Let’s do it then. I'll make more time to eat whatever delicious stuff you cook up and then we can cuddle.”

“Um…” she started, her gaze falling nervously to his stomach.

Theo tilted his head curiously, wondering her next thought.

“I know I just unbuttoned you, but…I also…want to see you…” she paused, her voice trailing off.

“I want to see you pop the buttons off this shirt,” Charlotte quickly sputtered, her blush now reaching her ears.

Theo looked at her blankly for a moment, processing her request.

He began to belly laugh when it finally registered. He pulled her into another hug, feeling her wrap her arms around his torso under his shirt.

Her arms were cool and soothing and her cold hands sent goosebumps over his body.

“Let's make something to eat then. I'm probably only a few spoonfuls of something away from busting this shirt open, anyway.”

Charlotte responded with a low, pleased laugh, giving Theo another squeeze.

***

Theo looked at himself in the mirror hanging on their closet door, his sides actually outsizing the width of it. He bit his lip, shuffling a little uncomfortably as he placed his hands on his round, hanging belly.

He was big. Almost 450 pounds big. Bigger than he’d ever been. But it was as they had planned over two years ago. It was just…surprising to really observe himself.

He turned to the side, one hand still on the top of his belly and tracing his eyes along the sagging bottom line of his stomach. It hung almost completely over his waistline, making an apron over his hips. His pecs were now sagging breasts, connecting to his back rolls. His eyes came back up to his face, still framed by his short blond hair, but his cheeks round and full–his neck basically disappeared beneath his double chin.

Charlotte kept insisting that he was incredible. She praised his expanding waistline, all the while giving him third and fourth helpings of the decadent dinners she made almost every night.

“My arms too…” he said with a sigh, lifting and wobbling his massive, soft arms. What definition he once had was totally covered by fat. He gently squeezed his left arm with his other hand. Warm and wobbly…he gave it a gentle pat and made it shake.

“You can still move around! And really well!” he could hear Charlotte's sweet voice in his head, remembering when he asked about her thoughts on his weight so far after he had found he had outgrown his favorite shirt.

“You're in great shape,” he remembered her voice cooing as she gently rubbed her hands on his stomach, uncovered by the outgrown shirt. That would have been debated by almost anyone else, but from Charlotte's mouth, he treated it like gospel.

Oh, and he loved that feeling. Her cool hands on his always-warm skin. The way her dark eyes sparkled as she admired him, when he accepted the next serving of dinner she would offer him.

And she was right, he was still able to get around. While his walk had become a waddle, he still considered himself pretty strong, helping her around the apartment with the heavy lifting chores--under the couch, moving the tables, things like that. He would only rarely be out of breath, and he was as sweaty as he usually got when he used to regularly exert himself at the gym…

Though, admittedly Charlotte insisted he stay seated and just relax while she took care of him, especially after a big meal. She didn't want her enormous prize of a man to have to worry about what she called ‘little things.’

When he sat, he took up almost all of the couch, Charlotte often squeezing herself next to him and absently jiggling his rolls as they watched a movie or show and snacked. His huge legs spread to make room for his giant belly and he found himself resting his arms on it. He had to admit that he was making a good place to set bowls within reach to munch from.

He let out a short exhale as his legs were starting to tremble from the effort of standing in place and observing himself for so long, his breathing starting to become heavy. He waddled himself around a little, watching ripples shake his huge rolls and belly. It took a moment for the shaking to settle, and Theo took a deep, satisfied breath.

But…besides all that, the clothes were really the only problem, and he was often in the comfy sweats and roomy athletic wear she had bought for him.

He was happy to let her spoil him too. Rough days at work? Delicious food. Tons of snacks with movies. The belly rubs, the increased intimacy…

She had always been loving and sweet, but it seemed like lately she was always running her hands over him and having increasingly lingering hugs. He definitely noticed the times she gave his sides a long, jiggling squeeze, but…man, it felt so good.

She knew all the best places to grab and squish, and she knew how to make him feel like he waa a god. Her hands traveled over every roll and curve he developed, her eyes sparkled every time he stepped on the scale.

She's would lovingly rub his huge belly, gently slapping and wobbling him around. It felt so good, and he would moan happily as she played. And when they went to bed?

Theo smiled smugly at himself, thinking of how excited Charlotte got almost every night when she watched him wobble himself to bed and heavily land himself on the edge. The little pink and purple hickies all over his covered chest were evidence of such.

Everything he had been afraid of losing that one night Charlotte came home was nothing but a distant dream now. Charlotte was totally his and he was all hers.

And you know?

Maybe he actually wasn't that big. Sure, it was the biggest he had ever been, but his girlfriend loved him more than ever.

He grabbed his belly and gave it a shake up-and-down. It bounced and jiggled and he felt himself smile with surprising satisfaction.

And he couldn't deny he liked it too. He wasn't enormously big, but he liked being the biggest guy in the room now. The way everyone acknowledged when he entered, his girlfriend holding tight to his huge arm. Her affectionate belly pats when they talked to their friends. Doorways were smaller, seats struggled to contain him, and he eclipsed Charlotte with his huge body.

And it was fine. He wasn't too big. He could still walk, still go out with Charlotte–it would even be fine if he got a little bigger. She always found a way to help him fit through and into places. He wore his huge, fat body well and Charlotte loved it. What would a few more pounds be?

His sweet girlfriend would be back soon with bigger clothes and they could settle down for another nice meal. He was feeling especially hungry now too. Maybe she picked up a giant meal from his favorite barbecue place? He figured he would call her and put in a request if she had nothing else planned.

He smiled at himself in the mirror, his chubby face grinning back at him. He hefted his belly up again and let it drop, watching it jiggle.