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Chapter One: Jesper
Jesper doesn’t make a habit of ending up in East Stave that often, but when Kaz Brekker asks for a favour, you go. Especially when Kaz sends some poor, terrified Kerch kid in his stead to knock on the Van Eck front door in the middle of the night instead of coming over himself.
“I’m coming with,” Wylan tells him the next morning, bouncing ahead and slinging the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder.
Jesper snickers when Wylan’s overstuffed bag gets him stuck in the doorway.
“Don’t tell me you’ve packed up all your things and are planning to go live with Kaz in the Barrel,” Jesper teases, his hand dramatically pressed over his heart. “How am I supposed to run an estate all on my own?”
Wylan rolls his eyes, like the idea is too ridiculous to even merit a response. He lets Jesper untangle his twisted strap. “How come you assume I’d leave you the estate?”
Jesper shrugs. “Collateral. Obviously.”
Wylan is still struggling under the weight of his bag. He tries to bounce the contents higher on his shoulder. “Collateral for what?”
Jesper takes the satchel from Wylan’s shoulder and slings it over his shoulder with ease. “For taking care of you,” he says, now stepping in front of him and listing the reasons on his long fingers. “For carrying your stuff,” he adds. “For reading to you, kissing you, and waiting on you hand and foot.”
Wylan’s cheeks bunch as he smiles, his whole face alight. “That’s fair, I guess,” he reasons. “But only if you buy me waffles every morning.”
Jesper stops so fast that Wylan almost butts into him from behind. “Every morning? Isn’t that a little excessive?”
“Every morning,” Wylan echoes. “And twice on Sundays.”
Jesper snorts. “And is your flute part of the insurance policy if you run off to live in the Barrel?”
Wylan looks affronted. “Of course not. Besides, I’m not sure anyone in Ketterdam would want to hear you play.”
Jesper barks out a burst of laughter as Wylan’s heavy satchel dips off to the side, dumping a flurry of papers into the air. Jesper quickly grabs for them before they have a chance to blow into the harbour.
“What is all this?” he asks.
“My sketches,” Wylan tells him, hurrying to help. “The flash bomb blueprints Kaz asked for, some extra materials and a few leftover fireworks.”
Jesper thinks back to the other night when a loud explosion sounded from the boathouse and Wylan showed up a few minutes later, the lens of his left goggle missing and his entire body covered in soot.
“I reworked the configuration,” Wylan gushes. “I realised it’s the increase of hydrogen that lessens the sound. Less inertia for a larger payoff, you know? Well, with a bit more residue after impact, but still.”
Jesper nods as if he understands, though he has no idea what Wylan is talking about. He loves the kid. Too much, probably. But half of what Wylan says goes over his head. He tries his best to look interested as his boyfriend excitedly prattles on about noble gasses, zirconium, and a few other exclamations Jesper can’t make sense of.
They stop for waffles along the way. It is Sunday, after all, and Wylan has demanded double servings on Sundays. Jesper gets a coffee for himself and steals a bite of Wylan’s double stack of waffles covered in syrup and candied almonds.
By the time they’re entering East Stave, Wylan has finished the last bite. A smear of strawberry syrup clings to the corner of his mouth, and Jesper thumbs away from the evidence before opening the black and crimson doors to the Club.
Inej and Nina sit at the front near Kaz, who is leaning against the counter, counting a giant stack of Kruge.
“Family!” Jesper shouts, loud for the sake of being loud. He topples Wylan’s bag to the nearest gambling table and quickly grabs Inej into a hug.
Nina rolls her eyes at the sight. “You’d think we never see each other.”
“We see each other far too much,” Kaz mumbles, eyes still set on the Kruge. “Did you bring them?”
Wylan must know Kaz is talking to him because he quickly rummages through his overstuffed bag before handing his sketches to Kaz. He then slides into the seat next to Nina and looks up at her with big, blue eyes until she offers him a piece of toffee.
He pops it happily in his mouth.
Kaz unravels the tightly coiled sketches one by one, flattening the parchment against the table with the help of a heavy coffee mug. His face remains neutral as he takes in the fluid lines of Wylan’s pen marks.
“You should ask Wylan about the powder,” Inej says.
“What powder?”
Nina gets up from her seat. “Come with me,” she says. “I need your expertise. The other night Inej and I found this bag of black powder stashed in one of the lamps at the Menagerie. It looks like gunpowder but smells sweet. Almost like a syrup.”
Wylan purses his lips. “It might be charcoal with an oxidiser. Sometimes the acid makes it sweet.” He gets up from his seat, though not before popping another piece of toffee in his mouth.
Jesper crosses his arms over his chest. “How come you let Wylan eat your toffee, but you threaten death if I so much as sniff a piece without your permission.”
Nina smirks. She hands Wylan another. “Because Wylan appreciates good food.”
“I appreciate it too!” Jesper yelps.
Wylan gives him an apologetic shrug before following Nina towards the private gambling parlours in the back.
Kaz’s gaze is still on Wylan’s sketches. He’s studying the top sketch with an almost scary intensity.
“Six bells, get inside,” Kaz tells Jesper. “Inej will already be on the roof. Thirty past six bells, you’ll usher one of the Dime Lion’s lackeys through the back door, got it?” He doesn’t bother looking up. “Don’t screw this up, Jes.”
Jesper leans his long frame against the black lacquered walls, confident. “Child’s play,” he says.
But the look on Kaz’s face is anything but reassuring. “Six bells,” he reminds him.
Jesper nods.
It’s a three-person job. In and out for an easy profit. They don’t need the money, not anymore at least, but Jesper would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to the thrill. Wylan seems content to live his cushy, Mercher life. And Jesper is too, but sometimes…. Well, sometimes he needs a bit more excitement. Risk and reward. The opportunity to sling his guns.
“Wylan looks happy,” Inej suddenly says, her voice calm and even.
The change in subject is slightly jarring. Jesper tries to school his expression into something neutral. Not that it matters. He knows they know – about him and Wylan. They can’t not. Jesper doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body, and Wylan’s constant blush is like an arrow, alerting all of Ketterdam to the fact that they’re together.
But it’s the way Inej says it, all subtle yet suggestive. Wylan looks happy.
“He is happy,” Jesper says. He assumes he is, at least. “Happy and healthy.”
Inej catches Kaz’s line of sight in the briefest of flashes before retrieving her gaze.
There’s an almost undetectable smirk playing at the corner of Kaz’s mouth. “A little too healthy, maybe,” he utters, his voice like gravel through a drainpipe.
“What?” Jesper asks.
But Kaz ignores him. He taps the end of his cane on the stack of cards sitting next to the drawings. “One game,” he tells Jesper. His look is severe. “Don’t blow it.”
#
Chapter Two: Wylan
The sound of ten bells rings outside. The breeze through the window flickers the flame of the nearby lantern.
Wylan scoots deeper under the covers until the expensive silk fabric juts against his chin.
“Wouldn’t it be great if I could dismantle Kerch’s foundations,” he asks, his tone passive. “Influence the Merch Council and end all those unfair indentures? Of course, it'd be easier if the Council didn't hate me. They think I’m some dumb, Merch kid.”
Jesper reaches over Wylan’s tangle of curls to turn down the lantern. “Who cares what the Merch Council thinks?” he asks. “I’d be more concerned if a bunch of greedy Merchers were infinitely fond of you. What would that say about your character, huh?”
Wylan smiles. “They’re not all bad,” he contends. “They’re just… well, they’re not like you.”
“Handsome?” Jesper offers with a wink. “Dashingly tall? Charmingly ruthless with a gun?”
Wylan purses his lips, trying to suppress a smile. “You forgot shameless.”
“Ah, yes.” Jesper smirks. “Of course. Just another of my many, many talents.” He tilts Wylan’s chin to steal a kiss and then pulls him close. Chest to chest with one long leg draped over his hip.
Wylan tries to ignore the soft press of his tummy against Jesper’s ribs and the way his padded hip makes an embarrassingly soft resting place for Jesper’s leg.
“What are my talents?” He quietly asks into the dark.
“Well,” Jesper stares into his eyes, his grey irises crinkling as he smiles. “You’re cute.”
Wylan snorts. “That’s not a talent.”
“You’re kind.”
“Also, not a talent.”
“You’re tremendously rich.”
“We’re both rich now, Jes.”
“And you’re quickly becoming Ketterdam’s most sought-after demolitions expert.”
Wylan actually goes quiet at that. It is the truth, after all. Multiple operations in The Dregs have been after him for his expertise. Not that he’d agree to helping anyone other than Kaz.
Wylan rolls over on his back and cringes when his belly gives a little wobble.
They haven’t talked about it – the extra weight clinging to his hips or the fact that he’s gotten (more than) a little chubby in the past eight months since they’ve moved into the estate. Jesper’s been oddly quiet on the subject and Wylan doesn’t know what to think about it. He wonders if Jesper's found his increased weight so unremarkable he feels no reason to comment.
Though, a much bigger part of him is terrified that Jesper hasn’t said anything because he’s all too aware of Wylan’s fragility.
Wylan remembers the look on Jesper’s face that day at Fifth Harbor. The hurt and disappointment that flashed across his features when he first heard Wylan’s voice sound from Kuwei’s mouth….
He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Jesper is simply biding his time, waiting for him to get back to the way he was. Because as much as he loves Jesper, (and Saints, he really does) he has no intention of dieting. And the vestiges of pudge that had always clung to his shorter frame (even when he was somewhat thin) have now blossomed into something more. And as self-conscious as Wylan is about everything, he can’t be guilted into changing his appearance. Not now. Not again. Not when he finally feels like himself.
#
Chapter Three: Jesper
Jesper is at the Crow’s Club for the second time that month. He’s helping Kaz with a job when Nina sneaks up behind him.
“Wylan’s getting quite chubby, don’t you think?”
Jesper is so startled by her voice, he almost drops his gun.
Yeah. He’s definitely off his game.
“What?” he asks.
“He’s looking so cute,” Nina gushes. “I wanted to say something the other day when you both were here, but I know how bashful he gets, especially in front of Kaz. That tummy, though,” she squeals. “He’s starting to look downright plump.”
Jesper doesn’t know if he should feel affronted on Wylan’s behalf. There’s no denying the kid has gotten chubby, but it feels wrong not to defend his honor.
“He’s…. not,” Jesper lies. “He’s, um. Growing.”
It’s probably the most pathetic falsehood he’s ever told.
Nina flashes him a grin. “Sure,” she says. “Well, even if that were true – which it’s not, by the way, not even a little – I’m happy for him. The Mercher lifestyle is finally catching up with him. The joys of abundance and overindulgence and all that.”
Jesper reaches out and gives Nina’s own soft belly a playful poke. “Scared someone’s coming for your throne?”
Nina smacks him hard on the back of his arm. And Saints, that really hurt.
“Jesper Llewellyn Fahey,” she says. “I could explode your heart if I wanted to. Don’t think I won’t.”
Jesper takes a step back in case she wants to smack him again and attempts to turn up the charm. “You like me too much to do that.”
“I like your pistols too much, maybe.”
Jesper cleans the pearl handle of his revolver and tucks both pistols into his pocket. “But to answer your question, yes,” he says. “It seems our little detonator has quite the sweet tooth.”
And a love for fried potatoes. And thick cuts of ham. And honey-soaked pancakes and anything else he can get his greedy little Mercher hands on.
“Well,” Nina hums, “as they say in Ravka, you don’t spoil the housecat with sweet cream and wonder why he’s grown so plump.”
Jesper raises his brow. “Is that really what they say in Ravka?”
“No,” Nina admits. “But you can’t argue that I make a good point. With all those servants and cooks. And a tall, Zemeni boy who spoils him more than most….”
Jesper’s eyes go wide. “You mean me?”
“Of course, I mean you. Everyone can see the way you look at him. I swear, some days I wonder how you keep your tongue in your mouth with the way you lust after him.”
“I do not lust.”
“You do. It’s quite adorable. And a little disgusting, if I’m being honest.”
She takes another piece of toffee from the tin and pops it in her mouth. “All I’m saying is Wylan is starting to look every bit the Mercher he is. So much so that I don’t think Kaz is using him on jobs anymore. Not physically at least.”
Jesper raises his brow. So that was why Wylan hadn’t been called out to the front lines. Jesper thought Kaz was trying to protect him, but he should’ve known better. Kaz wasn’t worried for Wylan; he was worried about Wylan becoming a liability.
“He’s not that chubby,” Jesper speaks, now getting defensive.
“No, but he has gotten lax.”
“Should I say something?”
“To Wylan?” Nina looks completely aghast. “Of course not! That poor boy’s self-worth is already in the gutter. The last thing he needs is his boyfriend calling him out for getting fat.”
“Chubby,” Jesper corrects her.
“However you want to define him,” she waives a dismissive hand. “Either way, you better not be giving him a hard time.” She raises her brow, as if challenging him to say otherwise.
Jesper holds up his palms in surrender. “Trust me, Nina. I have no problem with how he looks.”
“Good,” she says. “Because it suits him. Same as how he suits you.”
Jesper smiles at her words. It might be silly, but he agrees. On both accounts.
“And just so you’re aware,” Nina adds, suddenly getting to her feet. “I’m still waiting on my invite.”
Jesper stares at her. “Your invite? For what?”
Nina turns towards the door. The swish of her scarlet dress dancing around her ankles in a flutter.
“A beautiful mansion?” she says. “Endless servants and too many rooms to count? I’m coming for dinner next week,” she clarifies. “I’ll be expecting an apple tart when I arrive. And enough marzipan to fill a bathtub.”
Jesper is about to ask what she could possibly need with that much sugar, when she thrusts her tin of toffees against his chest.
“Give these to Wylan,” she says. “And be gentle with him.”
“I’m always gentle,” Jesper says, but she’s already out the door, getting sucked into the crowd of tourists.
#
Chapter Four: Wylan
Wylan walks through the streets of Ketterdam feeling horribly exposed. Usually, Jesper would be by his side. Next to him with a hand on his back, squashing all of Wylan’s fears like insignificant bugs.
But Jesper is helping Kaz today and Wylan is left to his own devices, wandering the streets of Ketterdam with his face aimed towards the ground, trying to get to the Crow’s Club without any unwanted attention.
A girl from one of the pleasure houses calls to him from an upstairs window and Wylan hurriedly speeds up his pace.
He’s not too fond of the Barrel, if he’s being honest. Like a lamb wandering through the lion’s den, he still feels dreadfully out of place. It’s not that he thinks he’s better than any of these people. Quite the opposite, really. Everyone in the entertainment district seems capable of holding their own. Wylan, though? Well, if Jesper wasn’t so avidly by his side he’d not dare come down these streets alone.
He can see sight of the Crow’s Club just down the road – the oxidized silver crow with his stretch of wings framing the entranceway. He’s about to cross the alleyway when a sound fills his ears: a singsong Zemeni accent with a booming baritone laugh.
The voice sounds oddly like Jesper's.
Wylan stops. He shuffles back a few steps.
“Ghezen,” he swears when he catches sight through the window.
It is Jesper.
Wylan cautiously stands on the opposite side of the doorway, across the street. Through the window, he can see Jesper. He’s sitting at one of the betting tables, dressed in a bright plaid suit and leaning way too comfortably into the lap of the woman beside him.
Wylan can feel the hot prick of tears at the base of his throat. The sudden anxiety that washes over him like a cold bath.
He takes a step closer and watches. He knows he’s seen that woman before, but he can’t place where…. She’s frightfully beautiful with lovely black hair. She’s smiling at Jesper, all open-mouthed like he holds the world. And Jesper is flirting right back, a stack of cards in one hand and a cup of gin in the other.
Wylan doesn’t know for how long he stands there, but it’s long enough that when a group of performers from the local Komedie Brute exit the theatre, they hiss at him to get out of the damn way before shoving him roughly with their shoulders.
The commotion on the street must cause Jesper to look up, because when he catches sight of Wylan – standing there, staring at him through the window like some pathetic lost puppy – he quickly gets to his feet and strides to the door.
“Wy?” He calls. He quickly jogs over to him. “Hey, are you okay?” He places his palms on Wylan’s shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
Wylan almost bursts into tears at the actual worry in Jesper’s tone, though he quickly tries to ration that Jesper’s most likely not worried, only concerned he got caught.
Wylan looks to the side to find the beautiful woman gazing at them with a curious sort of look on her face and self-consciousness riles up in his chest. He suddenly feels stupid. Useless. Too young and too fat and too insignificant to be here.
What was he thinking? What did he expect to find? Surely, not Jesper in the arms of a woman, he thinks angrily. But really, it’s his own fault for not staying home.
Wylan quickly turns, heading back to the estate in a bit of a run, trying his best not to cry. He can hear Jesper jogging behind him, long legs catching up easily.
“Wylan.” Jesper places a hand around his arm to stop him. “Wait,” he says. “Talk to me.”
But Wylan shrugs off the touch. He keeps walking forward, a bit slower this time, down the crowded, crooked road.
And he hates it, hates how stupid he feels. How hot embarrassment flushes his cheeks thanks to the pliant bounce of his thighs and the slight jiggle of his tummy as his feet make contact with the pavement.
“Gorgeous, hold on,” Jesper pleads.
Wylan turns on him, his face lethal. “Oh, I’m gorgeous now?” he asks. “I thought that word was reserved for random girls at the betting tables in East Stave.”
Jesper sputters. “Saints, Wy. What are you talking about?”
“You told me you were going to be at Fifth Harbor with Inej. I thought you were helping Kaz with a job. It’s bad enough that you lied to me about playing Three Man Bramble, but to be with a girl.”
“I was helping Kaz with a job. In fact, I still am.”
A handful of tourists walk by. They look ridiculously intrigued, avidly watching the display before them. Jesper gives them a sour look before escorting Wylan further into the alleyway, behind a stout vendor selling fried potatoes out of ink-spotted paper cups.
“Wy, listen to me,” Jesper starts. “I was at Fifth Harbor this morning, but then Kaz needed me here. You know him, he rations out information like it’s fucking Kruge. I promise you. If I had any idea about this part of the plan, I would have told you.”
Wylan’s pulse starts to slow. He forces himself to take a breath.
“But what about that Grisha woman?” he asks. He crosses his arms over his tummy and tries to ignore how curved his belly looks beneath his arms. “The one with the long dark hair? You were making her laugh. Leaning into her, acting like she was Ghezen himself.”
Jesper’s jaw clicks shut. His look of confusion gives way to sudden comprehension. “You mean Zoya?” he asks. “Zoya Nazyalensky? Saints, Wy,” he chuckles.
“It’s not funny, Jesper. I don’t go around flirting with random women, falling over Grisha girls just because I feel like it.”
“Sweetheart. It was a job. And you know Zoya.”
“Well… she’s not even that pretty,” he spits, immediately feeling awful for saying something so foul. He knows he’s just being petty, but he can’t help it. He can’t shake the image of Jesper, his Jesper, flirting so shamelessly with another person. A beautiful, talented Grisha woman at that.
“Wylan Van Eck,” Jesper grins. “Don’t tell me you're jealous?”
“I’m not jealous,” Wylan quickly answers, though his tone is too high-pitched to be true. He fusses with the button on his jacket, where it's clasped too tightly across the his middle.
“Are you sure about that?” Jesper raises his brow and a fresh wave of crimson colors Wylan’s cheeks.
“I’m not….” Wylan stumbles. “It’s just - Well, it’s just not proper, is all. To flirt,” he clarifies, his words overtly posh. He gnaws at his thumb, looking anywhere but at Jesper’s face.
He knows he’s being a bit ridiculous. It’s very obvious nothing was happening. But Wylan can’t help how foolish he feels when he looks at Jesper - someone who is so tall and so handsome and so talented. It's just... Well, Wylan can’t help but wonder what Jesper is doing with him in the first place.
Jesper steps forward. He removes Wylan’s thumb from his mouth in favor of interlocking their fingers together in a tight squeeze. “I may be but a humble farmer,” he teases. “But I dare say you are jealous.”
Wylan sighs. He drops his gaze to his shoes and winces a bit when he feels his soft chin bunch under his jawline.
“Fine,” he admits. “Maybe I’m a little jealous. But it’s not my fault,” he quickly contends. “I can’t help that you flirt with everyone in Kerch. Or that everyone flirts back.”
Jesper bends his knees until he’s hovering at Wylan’s height. He thumbs the plush curve of his cheek. “Merchling,” he says. He waits for Wylan to look up. “Zoya may be beautiful but she has nothing on you. They can look, but they can’t touch. It’s you I go home with.”
Wylan swallows. He drops his gaze, then looks back up. “Only me?” he asks. His voice is a quiet hush.
“Of course, only you! Who else would I go home with?”
Wylan goes back to worrying his thumb. “And you aren’t lying?”
Jesper, tucks a rouge curl behind Wylan’s freckled ear. “I would never lie to you, Merchling. You know that.”
Wylan does know that. Truly, he does. Whether it be a ledger, a letter, or Jesper’s own faithfulness, he knows that he would never betray his trust. He knows this. It’s just sometimes the voice in his head (the one that sounds uncannily like his father’s) is so loud it drowns out all else.
“Are you okay now?” Jesper wraps both arms around Wylan’s plush waist and waits for him to nod. “Good,” he says, now playful. “Because Kaz would murder me if I ever hurt you.”
Wylan wrinkles his nose. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Kaz and I may be close – well,” he pauses, “as close as one can be with Kaz. But he has a soft spot for you.”
“He does not.”
“He absolutely does. All of the Crow’s do. And if I ever hurt one curl on that pretty head of yours the next thing you know I’ll be face-down in the harbor. And the cause of death? Kaz’s cane.”
“Jesper,” Wylan scolds, though he’s giggling. “That’s so morbid.”
“As if you haven’t actively aided us lowly criminals in a multitude of heists.”
Wylan can’t really argue that.
He lets Jesper squish him against his side before requesting he buys him a paper cone of fried potatoes.
Jesper buys them, of course.
“What about the job?” Wylan asks. He pops a forkful of potatoes into his mouth. They’re piping hot and smothered in curry and mayonnaise.
Jesper hugs him close, one hand splayed over the chubby roll at his waist. “It can wait.”
And Wylan smiles around the bite.
#
Chapter Five: Jesper
Jesper sits in the tufted leather chair of Van Eck’s old office with his legs lazily draped over the side. The sole of his foot sits atop a giant stack of letters. He’s been reciting papers for hours: financial accounts and economic transactions and so many ledgers his voice is starting to rasp.
“What is it?” Wylan asks. He looks up when he realizes Jesper has stopped talking in favor of staring at him. He’s sitting cross-legged on the nearby chaise with a tin of biscuits balancing precariously in his lap. “How come you’re staring,” he asks.
Jesper grins at him, easy as breathing. “It’s hard not to when you look so lovely.”
As expected, his shameless flirting has the positive effect of bringing a pretty blush to Wylan’s cheeks.
Jesper stretches like a housecat before going back to reading. He picks up another ledger from the endless pile and starts from the top.
Though, his attention immediately starts to drift along with his eyes. He can’t help but look over to Wylan, where his spoiled, Mercher boyfriend is nibbling on yet another caramel biscuit. Now that he (and everyone else) has noticed Wylan’s weight, he can’t seem to notice anything else.
He thinks of Nina’s words and of Kaz’s comment. Of the playful smile Inej flashed at him the other day when Wylan walked into the Barrel - happily preoccupied with his order of fish and chips - his chubby belly rounding out over the tight band of his trousers.
Jesper doesn’t know if he should say something. Sure, Wylan isn’t some fragile Jurda blossom, but he is quite easy to fluster. He already seems a little embarrassed by how chubby he’s gotten (and he has gotten quite chubby.)
Even now, Wylan fidgets in his seat, fussing uncomfortably with the tight fit of his clothes. It’s quite obvious even from Jesper’s position across the room that Wylan’s shirt was tailored for someone with a little less tummy. Or, rather, it was tailored for Wylan prior to developing the nightly habit of pouring way too much honey into his mug of mallow tea.
“I think that’s more than enough,” Jesper had said one night when Wylan was in the midst of dripping the entire honey jar into his mug. “You’re going to give yourself a stomachache.”
Wylan had pulled the jar back to his chest, keeping it out of Jesper’s reach. He looked up at him with those wide, blue eyes, vast like the Novyi Zem sea. “But it tastes good with extra honey,” he had pouted.
And Wylan looked so innocent that Jesper folded.
It’s not that Jesper wants Wylan to lose the weight (he definitely isn’t opposed to sharing his bed with someone so soft.) And he doesn’t mind in the slightest that Wylan has gone from looking healthy to looking Mercher healthy – a round, chubby belly and a pair of thickened hips and thighs to match.
But the thing is, Jesper travels with confidence in his footsteps. Wylan does not. And he’s all too aware that Wylan’s self-doubt stems from Jan Van Eck‘s stupid words and how forcefully he whittled his son down with his cruel, ire thoughts.
What if I’m not enough, Wylan had blurted out one night not long after they moved into the estate. What if I’m not enough, Jes. For you or for anyone.
Jesper had slammed their mouths together so forcefully Wylan didn’t have a chance to continue. The day you’re not enough for me, Wylan, Jesper had told him, is the day no one is enough for anyone.
#
Chapter Six: Wylan
Wylan tries to fasten his trousers under his belly, but even with the button undone he can’t do them up. It isn’t just his middle that has gotten bigger. It seems his bottom half has thickened a bit as well.
He knows that he's been overdoing it lately. That he's gotten, perhaps, a little too pudgy. He knows that he’s been eating too many toffees and relaxing for far too many hours in the parlor.
But, the thing is, Wylan loves lounging in the parlor. And Jesper makes it so easy. He'll rub Wylan's feet as they rest in his lap, seemingly not minding in the slightest that Wylan nibbles on an entire tin of caramel biscuits while he talks. And Wylan loves his sweets. He loves the excessiveness of what he can buy, how he can afford to introduce Jesper to so many new things while soaking up his admiration in return.
What Wylan isn’t too thrilled about, however, is having to size-up his wardrobe so frequently. He’d had to do so twice in the eight months they’ve been together. Once, the first time he couldn’t get his pants to button. And again, when his largest coat wouldn’t close around the width of his middle.
Wylan stares out the window to where the sun gleams off of the boathouse, glimmering in the water like little sapphires.
He’s seated on the bench in the kitchen with his legs tucked underneath him. He’s wearing his biggest sweater, which is, admittedly, a bit too small, and a new pair of trousers that, even now, are starting to pinch at his waist. He tries to tug down the rough, wool fabric, but the hem of his sweater clings unhelpfully to his belly.
Jesper smiles at him from across the counter. His entire body is covered in flour. The muscles of his shoulders constrict and contract with each thrust of his arms as he kneads the dough. He’s making his mother’s recipe of honey-soaked biscuits. It’s probably Wylan’s most favorite thing in the world.
“Saints,” one of the cooks swears as she enters the doorway. She has her hand placed over her heart like she’s startled herself. “I apologize, Young Master Wylan,” she breathes. “I didn’t realize anyone was in the kitchen.”
Wylan makes a flustered noise. “Oh, just ‘Wylan’ is fine,” he reminds her, as he does every servant when they refer to him in such a formal manner. “And no need to apologize, Dima. Jesper was just showing me how to make biscuits.”
“And split pea soup with ham,” he reminds him.
“Yes, and soup.” Wylan dimples.
Jesper flashes Wylan a devious smirk before turning his charm on the cook. “It appears Young Master Wylan lacks any real cooking skills. Our little prince here doesn’t even know how to brew a proper cup of tea.”
“I know how to make tea!” Wylan argues, just to be difficult. Though, to be honest, he isn’t quite sure how to turn on the kettle.
“So, you won’t be requiring supper this evening Master Wylan?” Dima asks, seemingly unsure if she should allow Jesper to destroy the kitchen any further.
“Not tonight, darling,” Jesper speaks for him. “Unless Young Master Wylan plans on sitting on his butt all night instead of helping.”
Dima’s looks absolutely horrified by Jesper addressing Wylan so crassly.
Wylan can’t help but giggle at the look on her face. “It’s quite alright, Dima,” he says. “Jesper and I will take care of things.”
“I can take care of more than just dinner if you like....”
“Jesper,” Wylan scolds. He awkwardly dismisses Dima from the kitchen, then turns to Jesper. “Don’t rile her up. It’s not kind.”
“Oh, she’s fine,” he tells him.
Wylan sneaks a pinch of sugar from the jar and sprinkles the granules in his mouth. He also tastes tests the apples, the honey, a bit of butter, and a (somewhat hearty) piece of ham.
“If you keep snacking like that, you’ll be too full for dinner,” Jesper says, his back still turned as he stirs the pot of soup.
“No, I won’t," Wylan replies, pressing close. Though he instantly blushes when he realizes what he’s said.
Jesper sets down the spoon and turns around to hold him. His hand smooths down Wylan’s soft side, over the slight roll of pudge on his back, and down to the plump love handle that’s settled shamelessly above his unbuttoned trousers. He pinches the fat between his fingers.
Wylan sucks in a nervous breath.
Jesper is always tactile with him, but tonight, right here, his touch feels pointed.
Jesper is still thumbing the plump roll above his trousers when he says, “And if you’re still hungry, I can make you waffles. Whatever you want, sweetheart. I don’t mind.”
Wylan flushes. Embarrassment mixed with something else. He makes an effort to suck in his tummy, but he’s gained enough weight that even with a deep, inhaled breath his belly stays round and plush in Jesper’s hands.
Jesper brushes his knuckles under the soft underside of Wylan’s chin before kissing his forehead.
It’s another touch that feels pointed, somehow. Or maybe Wylan is simply feeling more self-conscious than usual.
#
Chapter Seven: Jesper
Jesper stretches his arms over his head and settles back against the colorful array of velvet pillows.
“What do you think Kaz does at night?” Jesper wonders.
He’s staring at the ceiling, making patterns in the ornate gold design as he absentmindedly plays with Wylan’s hair.
“What do you think he does when none of us are there,” he continues. “I think he’s like one of those rare sea animals, where he doesn’t need sleep to survive.”
Wylan’s sprawled on top of him looking sleepy-sweet and soft. His endless lashes fan out over his chubby, freckled cheeks in curved swoops.
“Kaz sleeps,” Wylan decides. “He’s human, after all.”
“Is he, though?”
The question makes Wylan dimple.
Jesper eyes the pudgy squish of Wylan’s belly pressed between them and the generous curve of his behind. “Are these new trousers?” he asks.
He fiddles with the belt loop, noting a looser fit. Usually, the band of his pants would be pinching Wylan’s full waistline, creating angry, red markings along his lower belly. Now, though, the material sits nicely across his curves with a little extra room in between.
“Yeah,” Wylan says. He visibly swallows. He follows Jesper’s eyes to his belly. He tries sucking in his stomach but the soft folds of his tummy stay put. “I thought a new wardrobe was in order,” his words waver a bit as he speaks. “The trousers are new. And… and the shirt.”
Jesper gently rolls Wylan over until he’s flat on his back. His middle jiggles a bit with the movement and the lower part of his tummy tumbles out from beneath his sweater. Jesper takes it upon himself to tug the material back down.
“It looks lovely on you.” He presses his hand into the soft wobble of Wylan’s belly and leans in for a kiss, ignoring Wylan’s indignant squawk. “Fits well,” he says, with another pinch to his side.
He knows he’s taking a risk, being so pointed with Wylan about his size. But it’s been so many days of treading water, if he doesn’t acknowledge it now, he’s afraid he never will.
Wylan shifts beneath him. His neck is splotchy with embarrassment. But he’s still looking at Jesper with those big, doe eyes. Open and patient and waiting for what’s next.
Jesper slips his hand under Wylan’s sweater and trails his fingers up his side. He finds himself a little surprised at how supple Wylan’s gotten – the little roll beneath his softened chest and the heavy curve of his love handle. Spread out like this, all chubby and soft with his tangle of curls like a red halo, Jesper can’t help but get hard.
He had wanted to kiss Wylan’s stupid, pampered mouth ever since he laid eyes on him at the Tannery. And although they’ve already had sex, and kissed, and done an array of things in between, at this moment, he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted him more.
Jesper tugs at the hem of Wylan’s sweater. “Take this off, sweetheart.”
Wylan falters. He opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then blushes so fiercely he looks like he’s about to pass out.
Jesper slips his hand under the material and gently rubs his bare belly. “Wy, you look beautiful,” Jesper assures him.
Wylan looks away. “Not like you,” he sighs.
Jesper slings his legs over Wylan’s hips. He leans forward and kisses him deeply, tongue against tongue, the soft scrape of teeth against Wylan’s lower lip. He peppers a trail of kisses down Wylan’s jaw as he holds onto the give of his waist, watching Wylan's pale, delicate skin bloom purple under his touch.
“Not beautiful like you,” Wylan repeats, not ready to give up the argument.
Jesper kisses him quiet. “That’s a discussion for another time, love. Because I would most certainly argue that you are, by far, the most ravishing person in all of Ketterdam.”
Wylan looks overtaken with Jesper’s words as well as his touch. His breath is shallow as he says, “Even though I’ve gotten fat?”
“Makes you all the more ravishing,” Jesper tells him, not even missing a beat. “Everyone knows that in order to be somewhat attractive there must be something to hold on to. Makes it all the more fun.”
And to prove his point he gently squeezes Wylan's sides, getting more than a handful in his grasp.
“But you’re thin,” Wylan counters. “And undeniably attractive.”
Jesper smiles. “Ah, yes. Well, my shining personality and impossible height make up for my lack of girth tenfold.”
Wylan laughs and his round cheeks bunch up to his eyes. He's looking at Jesper with such fondness that Jesper almost forces himself to look away.
Without trying, he falls for Wylan. Every day he falls. The first time he fell, it was like finding land for the first time after being lost at sea. He navigates towards him. Always and without end. Like salt to the sea, he thinks. An act as natural as breathing.
“Jes,” Wylan finally says. “You won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t like my body. If you'd prefer me…."
"Stop," Jesper hushes him. He can’t imagine anyone not liking Wylan’s body. Then again, he can’t imagine anyone not liking Wylan. “I love your body. And it would absolutely hurt your feelings if I thought otherwise.”
Wylan juts his chin. “No, it wouldn’t.”
"You pouted for a whole day when I told you I preferred the piano over the flute.”
“That’s not true!”
Jesper kisses his neck to hush him. He sucks a path over the delicate curve of Wylan’s collar bone, then up to the soft dollop of pudge beneath his chin.
Wylan happily squirms beneath him. “Hey, Jes,” he says again.
Jesper hums.
“Is Kaz mad at me?”
Jesper pulls back enough to raise his brow. “Kaz doesn’t feel, Wylan.”
“I think he’s mad at me,” he says, completely dismissing Jesper’s words. “He doesn’t ask me to come with him on jobs anymore. I’m just the supply boy, now.” He looks Jesper dead in the eye. “It’s because I got fat, right? Because I can’t run that fast anymore?”
“You were never that fast to begin with, sweetheart.”
Wylan looks comically shocked.
Jesper lets out a bark of laughter. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re cute," he says. "But if we’re working a job and those winged Shu soldiers come for us again? Sorry to say, Merchling, but I’m leaving you behind.”
Wylan sucks in a breath, looking astonished. “You would not.”
Jesper squeezes his sides, his eyes soft. “I would not.”