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It was a rare occasion that Marcus gorged himself to bloatation, but it was a sign that he enjoyed himself, usually at buffets or parties. He didn’t usually eat as much as Steve did, but on this kind of occasion he’d cut loose and help himself to all the freebies.
Tuesday evening, after the birthday party of a friend’s friend at a food and wine festival, the two staggered home arm in arm, Marcus obviously weaker. Steve noticed he was emitting little burps here and there. He must’ve packed away plates of hors d’oeuvres tonight.
Managing to get into their apartment, Steve helped his stuffed lover onto the couch, landing with a gurgle.
“Ooh,” Marcus moaned, feeling his stomach. “Bad decision.”
Steve gently lifted the Swede’s shirt up and laid his hands on his usually soft tummy, which was now tight as a drum and pulsing slightly as his stomach tried to digest its massive contents, growling in protest. Straddling him, careful not to jostle him too much, Steve tried to soothe his friend’s belly as best he could. Marcus just grimaced in pain, sweating slightly, mumbling about how much this was a bad decision. Steve unzipped his trousers to give his stomach breathing room, but it didn’t seem to do much good.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat that much before,” he commented, stroking his sides.
Marcus just whined in response, breathing deeply. This was all a turn-on for Steve, feeling his soft skin and his plush belly, like a gently loved teddy, but he knew when he needed to be tender with him.
It just wasn’t his night. A few minutes later, Marcus’ stomach let loose a warning groan. Hiccupping, Marcus sat up, suddenly very queasy. Before Steve could do or say anything, he belched wetly and brought up a thick paste of partly digested food all over Steve’s shirt.
Steve wanted to scream. His lover sighed and was about to apologise when he vomited again, the hot mess splashing once more down Steve’s front.
“Åh, fan. Förlåt,” he finally managed to get out, his voice hoarse from the sudden expulsion.
Now Steve was the one breathing heavily, the stink of puke assaulting his nose. Pulling himself together, he laid a comforting hand on Marcus’ shoulder, rubbing a thumb along his shoulder blade. “It’s alright, I guess I know why you don’t eat that much usually,” he answered, as Marcus settled back into the couch.
He could scold him for overindulgence later. First, Steve had to get out of these clothes and into a shower, and then brew some honey tea for his dearest.
