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“Sweet Meliete, I’m starved!”
Jaskier dropped down into his seat beside Geralt, his face red and his feet aching. This was the third banquet they had been invited to this week and he had to admit he was feeling more than a little exhausted. His fame had skyrocketed lately and he was in very high demand among the highborns. Lords and ladies, kings and queens, dukes and dutchesses–everyone wanted Jaskier to perform at their special occasions. They all had to have the most popular bard on the Continent play at their parties.
Jaskier couldn’t complain. The coin was incredible and he and Geralt had been living large because of it. Geralt, of course, still insisted that they were separate entities and that he could fend for himself but that didn’t stop Jaskier from buying him things. Even after all of these years of friendship Geralt was still unbelievably stubborn.
A great deal of the coin Jaskier earned went toward a new wardrobe for himself. The most colorful doublets money could buy in all of the latest fashions. He was thinking about buying vests, or perhaps a long and fancy coat. Geralt had told him that buying a hat would be stupid but Jaskier thought he was wrong. He would look quite dashing in a hat, thank you very much.
The only downside to buying new clothes was that it made Jaskier become acutely aware that his waistline had become effected by the amount of good food he had been eating as of late. He hadn’t noticed that he had gained weight until he tried squeezing himself back into an older pair of breeches he had only to find that he couldn’t fasten the buttons. If he wanted to wear it, he would have had to untuck his chemise to cover up his little belly.
It was only a few pounds at most. Nothing to worry about. Maybe he would lose it in the winter months when he was holed up in Oxenfurt with nothing better to do and no feasts to attend.
Still, even though he told himself that it was no big deal, he found himself worrying about it just as he said he wouldn’t. Was it effecting the way people looked at him? Would he become less popular if he were to get fat? Not that he was getting fat. It was just a couple of pounds. Just a couple of pounds and nothing more.
The problem was that he had so much access to such good food lately. The moment he sat down a large plate overflowing with food was placed in front of him and Jaskier felt his mouth water in response. He was in over his head, he knew it.
It would be rude to refuse the food he was offered and so he cleaned every plate until his stomach was tight and rounded and pushing out into his lap. Some nights he even went to bed curled around it, rubbing at it to try and soothe the aches in it. He wondered if Geralt heard his little whimpers during those nights.
Jaskier stared at the plate in front of him, popping a roll into his mouth. It was good and buttery. He looked to the lord of the night, nodding at him and complimenting the food before tucking in further. He really was hungry but that nagging voice in the back of his mind that was telling him that he was getting fat was getting louder.
He decided to ignore it for now. One more little plate couldn’t hurt, right?
One plate turned into two. Two turned into three. Soon it was time for dessert and Jaskier already felt like he might burst but a hefty slice of chocolate cake was delivered to him. He eyed it, rubbing his stomach under the table. It was already bowed obscenely, stretching against his breeches until Jaskier was left opening some of the buttons to give it room. He rubbed at it some more, promising it that this would soon be over and he could curl up in his bed at the inn in town and sleep off his latest food coma. Because food comas were part of his life now when he hadn’t even previously known that they were actually real. Eating a large amount of food really did make him sleepy.
He picked up his fork and took a bite of the chocolate cake, very nearly choking at how delicious it was. Decadent. Orgasmic. It melted on his tongue and he hummed happily around his fork before pulling it free so he could chew and swallow. Rinse and repeat.
Beside him, Geralt had declined his slice of cake and the lord didn’t look very pleased about that.
“Oh! I’ll take that. My dear Witcher isn’t very fond of sweets.” Jaskier quickly said, taking the plate from the server and setting it down beside the piece he was already working on. Why had he done that? He already felt like he might burst and now he had just assigned a second slice of cake to himself to finish.
Geralt was giving him a look that he couldn’t quite read but Jaskier decided not to focus on it. He had two slices of cake to get through before the night was over and he could finally go to bed and relax.
Slowly, Jaskier made his way through the first slice. He felt like he might be sick but he didn’t give up. It occurred to him that this was likely ridiculous. He could admit that he couldn’t finish this extra slice, get up, and be off for the night. But he didn’t want to. Or maybe he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure.
“Jaskier.”
Geralt was trying to speak to him, voice low in warning. Jaskier waved him off. “Not now, darling. I’m eating cake.”
He felt Geralt’s eyes roll more than he saw them.
The chatter throughout the hall was a welcome noise to Jaskier. He could block out conversations around him until they were nothing but white noise or music to his ears as he ate. Just a few bites left. Just two or three more and then he could call it a night.
One of his hands was curled around the underside of his belly, trying to soothe it as he finished off the cake, moving slowly and robotically. His back was bowed as he tried to find a more comfortable position to sit in. Pushing his stomach out felt the best for right now as he couldn’t slouch around it. It was too hard and full, like a balloon threatening to pop.
Jaskier swallowed the last bite and tried to set his fork down as quietly as possible. He wiped his mouth clean of traces of chocolate and heaved a sigh, pushing his belly out again as he tried to accommodate its weight.
He was too tired to make conversation right now. Even Geralt was aware of it because he suggested it was time for them to retire for the night. Jaskier would have preferred to digest a bit before making a move but the lord was already bidding them a good night and Geralt was on his feet.
Standing up was a horrible affair. Jaskier’s center of gravity had shifted so dramatically that it was difficult finding his balance. Walking was even more horrible but he noticed that Geralt was sticking close to him, slowing his gait so Jaskier could keep up. The bard’s cheeks burned with shame when he realized that Geralt was fully aware of just how much of a glutton Jaskier was being lately.
The walk back to the inn was pure torture. It was like being marched to the gallows, except Jaskier wasn’t walking to a rope around his neck but a soft bed for the night. The thought of the bed was what kept him going. He took one small step at a time, one hand cradling his overstuffed belly and the other pressed against the curve of his back which was still bowed to help him walk easier. His stomach was just so heavy. He wished Geralt could carry it for him.
Geralt kept close, giving him concerned looks every few minutes. Jaskier did his best to ignore him. He didn’t want Geralt to see him like this and be disgusted for what he had done to himself.
They approached the inn after what felt like a lifetime of walking and Geralt held the door open so Jaskier could hobble through. Jaskier thanked all of the gods above that their room was on the ground floor and not up a set of stairs because he was positive he couldn’t climb them in his current state. He waddled his way into their shared room and sat down heavily on his side of the bed. He had wished they had been able to get two beds that night just so he could properly curl up around his stomach and silently soothe the aches in it but he hadn’t been that lucky.
Geralt shut the door, gave Jaskier a look and started getting ready for bed. Jaskier could feel his disgust from where he was staring down at his boots, contemplating the best way to remove them without jostling the contents of his stomach too much. It felt like an impossibility.
Geralt seemed to realize Jaskier’s plight and came over to kneel by the bard’s feet, slowly pulling off his left boot.
“Thank you, Geralt.” Jaskier said, cheeks red. “I…don’t think I could have done it myself.”
“Hm.”
“It’s just a couple of pounds.” Jaskier suddenly found himself saying. As if he had to make excuses for his current state.
Geralt kept quiet and pulled off Jaskier’s other boot. Having his feet free helped Jaskier to relax further and he curled his toes and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
PING!
Jaskier’s eyes were round as saucers as he witnessed one of the buttons on his breeches go flying across the room to clatter to the floor. His cheeks flooded with color and the air felt like it had evaporated and he couldn’t breathe. “Okay. Maybe it’s more than just a couple of pounds.” he forced himself to say, keeping his tone light and joking. That would make it okay, right? There was no need to panic. He could still fix this. He could still lose this weight and be svelte again.
Geralt was staring at him like he had just fallen off of a cliff or something. Jaskier was sure he had never seen the Witcher’s eyes that big before. Any moment now Geralt was going to tell him that he was out of control. That he didn’t want him around anymore.
Jaskier scrambled to try and fix this, sucking in a breath only to have it get tripped up inside of him, a startled hiccup escaping him instead of his voice. Great. Now he couldn’t even get a word out to apologize.
Geralt rose to his feet and for a moment Jaskier feared he was about to leave right then and there. Instead Geralt went to the pitcher on the table and poured a glass of water. He brought it over and held it out. “Here. Drink.”
Jaskier hiccuped sharply and groaned as it caused his stomach to ache even more than it had previously. He moaned miserably but accepted the glass and drank heavily from it. He had to stop a few times to let out more hiccups but eventually they subsided. The only problem now was that his belly felt waterlogged. He really felt like he might explode now and he groaned louder and lowered himself to the mattress, lying on his back and soothing his hands up and down the bowed sides of his belly.
“O-Oooh…”
“Does it hurt?” Geralt asked, standing over him.
Jaskier opened his eyes and looked up at the Witcher, cheeks burning once more. “Y-Yes.” He was starting to suspect the look in Geralt’s eyes was one of genuine concern. Not disgust. Geralt would have left by now if he thought of Jaskier as a fat pig.
“Can I try something?” the Witcher asked, extending a hand but pausing just inches from Jaskier’s belly.
Curious, Jaskier nodded. “Go right ahead.” Geralt seemed to want to help so far. There was no reason to turn down his offer.
The next thing Jaskier knew, Geralt’s warm hand was resting on his taut tummy. Jaskier couldn’t hold back his gasp, eyelid fluttering closed for a brief moment. It only got better from there when Geralt started moving his hand in circular motions, rubbing Jaskier’s belly for him, soothing away the aches as best he could. Jaskier melted into the touch, breathing out another sigh and feeling less like his lungs were being compressed.
But then, as quickly as it started, it stopped. Jaskier instantly went into a state of panic, eyes shooting open to look up at Geralt who was moving away from him.
“G-Geralt?”
“One second.”
Jaskier watched Geralt walk to the other side of the bed, lying down beside him. His hand took up its previous position on Jaskier’s belly, rubbing in soothing circles once more. Jaskier sighed again, his eyes falling shut. “Oh, Geralt. That feels heavenly. Thank you.”
They fell silent then, the only sounds were Jaskier’s breathy little moans as he complimented Geralt on how good his belly rubbing skills were.
“Might feel better if your shirt was open.”
Jaskier cracked an eye open because surely he hadn’t heard that properly. Had Geralt really just suggested he take his shirt off? Was he dreaming? He had been waiting to hear something like that from Geralt since he was just a boy of eighteen. “My, Geralt. If I weren’t feeling so weighed down by my own gluttony, I’d be swooning right now.”
Geralt chuckled softly, hand running down the curve of Jaskier’s belly to where his chemise was tucked into the hem of his breeches still. Since the breeches were now undone at the first two buttons and the third had popped off, Jaskier’s chemise was barely hanging on. Geralt looked into Jaskier’s eyes and the bard realized he was silently asking for permission. How sweet.
Jaskier smiled gently. “Go ahead, love.”
Geralt wasted no time, helping to untuck Jaskier’s chemise and slowly pulling it up over his bloated belly. Jaskier heard the Witcher’s voice catch in his chest and he looked questioningly over at him. “Fuck. You look like you could be several months pregnant.”
“Not pregnant,” Jaskier assured. “Just fat.”
Geralt’s hand made contact with Jaskier’s bare belly and gods, that felt even better than it had with his chemise in the way. Jaskier very nearly moaned, eyes screwing shut again as warmth flooded through him. “I wouldn’t say fat. This is just a little starter belly.”
“Doesn’t feel so little to me.” Jaskier complained. He still ached so badly but it was starting to ebb under Geralt’s ministrations. “I feel so hugely fat.”
“Even if you were I wouldn’t think less of you.” Geralt said suddenly.
“What?” Jaskier opened his eyes, staring at Geralt in disbelief. “Geralt, are you telling me that I shouldn’t be embarrassed by this?”
Geralt gave a one shouldered shrug, hand skirting higher on Jaskier’s belly, fingers running through the furry hair there. “Eating is just one of the pleasures of life. Gaining weight is a consequence of it. The heavier someone is, the more it shows the world that they’re well cared for. They’re happy and eating what they want. Growing larger by consuming what brings them pleasure. What’s so wrong with that?”
Jaskier floundered to try and come up with an argument to that. He racked his brain but found he couldn’t think of a reponse. Sometimes he hated it when Geralt, who was usually so quiet, was so insightful. Right now was not one of those times.
“Besides,” Geralt continued, one finger dipping into Jaskier’s navel, making the bard wiggle and squirm slightly. “I think you look good like this.”
A wolfish smile spread across Jaskier’s face and he couldn’t believe his luck. “If I had known all it took for you to admit I was good looking was to stuff myself with a feast and gain a couple of pounds, I would have done it years ago, my dear.”
Geralt’s yellow eyes turned to Jaskier’s blue ones and Jaskier felt out of breath for an entirely different reason. “I wasn’t ready to admit it years ago. I am now.”
“Geralt, what–”
Jaskier’s sentence was cut short as Geralt’s hand moved from his stomach to his cheek, now rounded with the weight he had gained. Geralt loomed above him, once again staring down questioningly at him. Not for the first time that night, Jaskier was left speechless.
“Can I kiss you?” Geralt asked, throwing caution to the wind.
Jaskier responded by reaching up and pulling Geralt down close enough to crush their lips together in a searing kiss. He had been waiting for this moment for far too long. He couldn’t believe it was actually happening and all because he had eaten a bit too much at a banquet.
Geralt kept the kiss light and sweet, yet so very passionate. Jaskier was thankful for that because he was still feeling quite tired from everything he had eaten. Not to mention his tummy was still aching dully.
When the kiss ended, Geralt pulled back and smiled at him like he was the sun. Jaskier giggled, scrunching up his nose until the motion of his laughter started causing his belly to rebel again. “O-Oh. Yeah, laughing isn’t a good idea right now. My belly still hurts.”
“I’ll take care of you.” Geralt promised, lying down again and returning his hand to Jaskier’s tummy.
Jaskier melted against him, feeling boneless and heavy again. “So,” he said after a beat. “I’m guessing you don’t think I need to lose weight then.”
“No.”
Jaskier hummed happily. “What about the banquets and stuffing myself silly? Should I stop that?”
“Just don’t hurt yourself.” Geralt replied, smoothing his hand over the side of Jaskier’s belly and cupping it as best he could.
Jaskier smiled to himself, closing his eyes again. Geralt was right. There was nothing wrong with what he was doing. He could gain a little weight if he wanted to. Hell, he could gain a lot of weight if he wanted to. The food was good, the coin was plentiful, and now he knew that Geralt felt the same way he did. All of the problems he had that morning washed away and now there was nothing but the soft way Geralt was petting his stomach, looking at him like he was his whole world.
It was just a couple of pounds but it had brought them together.