Work Text:
“Got a job.” Geralt announced as he walked up to the table Jaskier was sitting at while writing in his songbook.
“Wonderful! Come, sit, I’ve ordered us both some lunch- and I was able to secure a room for tonight.” Jaskier said. He flipped to a fresh page, “Now tell me Geralt, what are you fighting this time? Something interesting I hope? There’s no fanfare in a common nest of drowners or a group of ghouls you know. I-”
“It’s not drowners,” Geralt interrupted, “There’s a slime in the local mine.”
The barmaid approached their table with a bowl in each hand, “Here’s ‘yer food lads. Master Witcher, I think I heard somethin’ about you dealin’ with that thing in the tunnels? Do be careful sir, the men said it can’t be cut with no sword, and if you fall into it like Hendrik did you’ll dissolve like a chunk of salt in hot water!” She left quickly after that, having been called back to work by someone at the bar.
“How exciting! A brand new monster is exactly the thing my creative sensibilities are craving- you have to let me come with you.” The bard pleaded. He wrote fervently in his notebook. With his free hand, he pulled one of the bowls closer to him and began to eat, only sparing a glance to make sure the Witcher was still engaged in the conversation.
“You can come. Gotta prepare some things first, meet me in the room when you are finished eating.” Geralt said.
Jaskier was surprised, “Not going to eat your lunch? Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m fine, just have to prepare a few things. We’ll leave when you’re finished eating.”
___
The day had only just started to cool when they arrived at the mine. Instead of his armor, Geralt was wearing an old tunic and loose pants that were being held up by a makeshift cord belt. His swords were strapped to his back, but his bedroll had been tied to the scabbards. When Jaskier had asked him about it, he was told to shut up. Luckily for them both, the town had invested in making sure they wouldn’t be crushed. Wooden supports were wedged in the rocks along the steep rock tunnel in front of them. It appeared that the mine had been fashioned from a preexisting cave system; it would certainly explain how a slime ended up down there.
Geralt grabbed a torch from the nearest wall sconce and cast Igni with a brief wave of his hand. There were torches every so often that he lit as the two men walked deeper underground. It was dark like the early evening, despite all of the torches being lit. There was just enough light to see significant obstacles, but not enough for the bard to write and walk at the same time. He was, however, able to jot down simple notes as long as he spared a glance or two to make sure he didn’t drift into the other blindly-scrawled bits of information. It was times like these where muscle memory from decades of writing paid off.
“Where should I be while you are dealing with the slime? It won’t fling its body-dissolving goo at me, will it?” Jaskier asked. He usually let the witcher work, drawing inspiration from watching the hunter in his element. They would talk after the contract was finished. For now, he needed to know what the plan was.
“You’ll be able to get close once I’ve started. Do not touch it.” Geralt answered, lighting yet another torch in a wall sconce, “It’s impossible to fight a slime.” He sniffed the air.
They were truly in the mine now, having walked down several branches of tunnels. Massive chunks of rock were missing where the men had found veins of ore. Support beams attempted to prevent everything from collapsing, but unlike other mines, most of what they had walked through had formed naturally. The caves didn’t need to rely on lumber to keep it from crashing down on top of them, but the wood that was present was light in color, freshly axed and brought down for the newest expansions in the operation.
“How are you going to get rid of it?” Jaskier pointed to the bundle with his quil. Yennefer had enchanted it to write without needing to dip the tip into a pot of ink, “By taking a nap?”
“Have to eat it.” He stated, “It doesn’t have the ability to think- just glides around and dissolves anything that gets trapped inside. Slimes react to harmful stimuli by squeezing into cracks and other unreachable places, but they will eventually reemerge and continue to roam. The bedroll is so I have something to sit on.”
“That’s… definitely something new.” The bard said with a bewildered look on his face. He turned to a new page and began to write quickly and deliberately.
“It’s up ahead, stay back, don’t come close until I’ve started eating.”
They reached the cavern where the slime was said to be. The room itself was huge, and the miners had lit the area well in order to look for signs of new veins. The glossy, clear-blue gelatinous cube glistened in the firelight. It jiggled slightly as it slid on the stone ground, and wet sounding squelches all but spurt from under it.
“Geralt,” Jaskier stage-whispered, “That thing is the size of Roach! I’ve never seen a slime in the flesh, but that one has to be much too big for anyone, even a witcher, to eat.”
The Witcher fished around in his pouches for a moment before producing a vial and what looked to be a motified bomb, “I’ve a potion,” he said, as if that were a sufficient explanation, “and this bombshell is filled with a poison that will trigger its flight response. My stomach acid, along with the potion and the poison, will cause a chemical reaction. Then we’ll wait until I’ve swallowed all of it and go from there.” He uncorked the small glass bottle and held it with his mouth- already beginning to unfasten his swords and pouches as he tilted his head back. Potion slid past slightly parted lips. Geralt swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed, and the lukewarm, mucus-like potion slithered down his throat.
He set his things aside, “Watch these.”
“We are going to have a very interesting conversation after we’re done here.” Jaskier asserted, scribbling.
“Stay put unti-”
“Yes, yes, wait until you’ve begun eating and don’t touch it- now go, I’m working.”
___
The bomb’s fuse was unlit as it blurred through the air, thrown so powerfully that when it penetrated the slime, the cube’s trajectory changed. The shell dissolved, and the poison mixed with the creature. The edges of the cube, which were surprisingly well defined, started to soften as the slime’s shape collapsed. Its light blue coloring darkened and took on a greenish hue.
In nothing but his boots, an old pair of trousers, and a thin shirt, the Witcher put his lips to the sludge, and began to suck. The cool gel slithered across his tongue and pressed against the back of his throat. He swallowed. Gurgling and bubbling radiated from his middle as the chemical reaction took place. The slime reacted accordingly, forcing larger pumps of itself into him. He gulped and moaned against the force of the slime and awkwardly looked for a place to settle before it was too late. A heavy weight settled in his stomach. Desperate gasps for air through nostrils, rhythmic gulping, and quiet sloshing echoed quietly in the stone room.
___
The Witcher’s battle scarred hands pressed his tightening midriff, struggling against the increasing pressure. A pregnant lump had already taken shape by the time he sat on the ground. His gut expanded before their eyes as he guzzled and slurped, and he was surprised to feel his middle already pushing against his well-worn pants. He untied his belt and moaned. The slime filled him, rapidly and beyond control. Thick liquid sloshed inside his belly. He grew significantly with every rising breath, and the heavy mucus made his stomach gurgle and whine in protest. Jaskier, who had moved closer, stared with eyes as large as dinner plates. The Witcher leaned back so that his lungs had more room to inflate. Another moan rumbled from deep within his throat, and he rubbed the protruding mass that was now barely being contained by his waistband. Pain radiated along the center of his gut; he had reached the point where he had become too big for his pants. Flesh started to overflow from the top, buttons pressed into him, and- Plink!
His belly, no longer held back by clothing, surged forward violently at the sudden freedom. It flopped onto his lap, jiggling and sloshing. A relieved moan rolled through his repetitive gulping and deep breathing. The slime didn’t tire or slow down, racing past his lips with the same vigor as it had started with, maybe more. If he weren’t a witcher, his skin would have split from the intensity. Every breath made his new weight rub against his cock, and it grew hard.
Geralt rubbed his ball-like belly, which looked like he had lived a plentiful life for many years, and rivaled the continent's most greedy kings. His splayed hands reached the underside of his bulging girth, caressed the expanse for a moment, then supported it as he readjusted himself and tried to ignore the throb in his groin. The new heft on his thighs made it more difficult to move, but he found that spreading his legs had given him more space. The worn shirt, stretched over his enormous bump, slipped and bunched at the top of the platform his intrusive stomach had created. After a few minutes in this position, he felt the bottom of his paunch touch the bedroll. He swallowed at a steady rhythm while his body gurgled in protest.
Only half of the slime had been consumed, yet he was filled to the brim. Massaging the balloon of flesh did little to relieve the intense discomfort that had accompanied the ever-growing mass. It was astonishingly round, but also unexpectedly soft. Firm but pliable under his hands, he kneaded what he could and drank the gelatin pumping its way down his gullet. His colossal belly rested on most of his lap heavily and wobbled along with each rushing breath. It pushed against his legs, which, like the rest of his body, were unaffected by the feast. Jaskier caught his attention, but the Witcher’s mind had grown fuzzy from being filled, and the weight that consumed him left him unable to do anything more than groan and lazily caress his aggrandized state. He looked at his friend through drooping eyelids, nodded his head, and moaned softly to try to ease the concern-scrunched face before him. When he rolled his head to look down at his stomach he discovered that he had gotten too large to see his feet.
Only a third of the slime remained, yet its speed remained consistent. It entered Geralt’s impossibly expanded body, his hands traveling along his extensive and growing form. It filled the space in front of him entirely, legs bent slightly to surround it. He stroked the sides of his vast expanse, taking time to ease the stretched scars and sore skin, before slowly moving forward toward his navel. Arms stretched as far as possible without moving his shoulders or torso, not that he could if he wanted to, the Witcher found that his hands couldn’t quite meet in the middle. He groaned, exhausted, stuffed, and annoyed.
‘It’s almost over,’ He thought to himself, ‘Keep swallowing. Breathe. Don’t stop.” His belly gurgled.
___
Geralt gasped for air as soon as the last of the slime slithered down his throat. He was trapped in a fit of hyperventilation for several minutes, only able to lay back against the cool stone and rub his cumbersome, unbelievably enormous body. Slowly, the desperation behind each puff of oxygen melted away and stabilized into a rhythm of deep breaths. Lethargy weighed heavily on him. The slime had filled him beyond what a human could take. In less than ten minutes, his round belly had distended to the point where the Witcher couldn’t reach his belly button, let alone his thighs, lap, or most importantly, his penis, which throbbed under him.
He hiccuped, then burped, “ Hic! Burru- ugh,” a pause for breath, “Mm’can’t… move…”
“Geralt- come on, wake up, there we go,” Jaskier’s hands hovered over his friend’s massiveness, “Dear heavens Geralt, how are you going to get out of here? I didn’t think it was possible for someone to become so big! ”
The Witcher continued to breathe slow and heavy, his hands resting on the top of the massive bulge, “Goin’ to… Meditate… Then… I’ll get up…” He groaned. Thanks to the potion, the pressure in his gut wasn’t explicitly painful, but there was significant strain on his stretched skin and stomach. His hands wandered absentmindedly where they could reach.
Through heavily lidded eyes, Geralt gazed at the bard as he fell asleep.