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They had met in secret a few times. Gaius would visit his room, strip without a word exchanged, and then run through his stretches as Messmer watched lazily. Once Gaius was dripping with sweat, Messmer would pull on or slap part of his wide expanse of flesh, beckoning Gaius to come and make himself comfortable. Growing quite spoiled under Gaius’s attentions, on a few occasions he would even play-act as if he were too weak and fat and exhausted to feed himself. Gaius had lifted cream pastries to his lips, cheeks hot at the idea of making any small contribution to his bulk, and Messmer had preened in the rare attention of being fed and fucked and lusted over.
Once, Gaius had dared to use Messmer’s mouth to pleasure himself. The way Messmer throttled his meals, he had expected either the best or the worst blowjob of his entire life. But Messmer had in fact been sweet and gentle, and once Gaius had finished and left a pearl of spend on one of Messmer’s fat chins, Messmer had acted very shy, as if such an act was more obscene than any of the times Gaius had mussed up one of his velvety rolls.
The one thing he had not had any practice with was buried under Messmer’s stomach, and he was as prudish about lifting it as any maiden with her frilly skirts. Whether it was said in lust or in teasing or in sympathy, Messmer would hear no talk of his neglected privates, though their fate and accompanying difficulties were obvious just by looking at him.
“If you are so entranced by it, then join my inner circle in their wretched work tending to the filthy thing. See if it helps you lose that appetite!” Messmer had said to him.
“It’s a healthy appetite,” he said.
“I have gathered.”
That was how Gaius found himself walking to the lower reaches of the castle in the pitch black darkness to meet with five Carian men in rich blue gowns. Not a single face was identifiable under their masks.
“You are the handsome little paramour our prince steals into his bed,” said one of them, more ornate in his uniform than the men around him. “Good, good. It will be nice to have some muscle around,” he said.
It was not a voice Gaius found entirely pleasant, and there was no real room for a response before he was taken by an arm around his shoulders and led into a darkened hallway, where a new mage examined him thoughtfully. He brushed light fingers across Gaius’s neck, mouth pursed in the same expression one might hold when observing a foreign animal.
Gaius realized his bruises were visible - Messmer would bite during sex, hard and carelessly, without any regard for how visible the marks would become. Or perhaps he found it satisfying to see him marked up in return for the mess Gaius would make of his own body.
And then, Gaius realized with horror, that he would too on occasion nuzzle a bite into Messmer’s flabbiest parts.
The mage snorted.
“Well, he’s had his way with you, hasn’t he, the fat little snake. He didn’t seem serious about it, did he?”
“Pardon?” Gaius said.
“Like he was truly trying to eat you.”
“...No,” Gaius said.
“Good. He should still be in control of himself and everything inside him - but it never hurts to stay vigilant. Particularly with other behavioral changes. We don’t want you to ignite anything new in him.”
Gaius thought that they were at their destination, but they continued onwards down a dark and narrow staircase. There was nowhere he could roam to avoid further conversation.
“We haven’t noticed much on our end - although we do have to clean him more frequently.”
Gaius felt frigid and faint. Behind those golden masks, he felt that he was stared at with something less than gratitude.
Poor Messmer. Gaius would have taken things into his own hands, gladly, and saved them both the embarrassment. Did he exhaust himself, trying desperately to pleasure himself? He must wobble like a plate of custard.
They finally reached a wider chamber, and as they crossed single file through its doorway, Gaius felt, among the mages, like he imagined his own boar must have felt among the noble horses.
The whole room was desolate and it made the impression of a torture chamber. Cold iron shapes gleamed in the low light. In the middle of the space, there was a stone bed, and while Messmer once may have been able to cram the full spread of his fat hips and belly across its breadth, those days were long gone. They messily rolled over its sides. His arms were splayed and held taut by chains attached to the ceiling, slightly aloft. A filmy veil obscured his head, hanging down from an enormously wide stone vessel that dripped a constant stream of viscous amber liquid into his mouth. He moaned quietly. His stomach was far too large and soft to be pulled taut by even the largest of meals, but it did look somewhat distended, like it had been filled up well beneath his ocean of cushioned padding.
“Here is your prince, Gaius,” one of the mages said in a low and mockingly sultry tone. “A beauty, is he not?”
He ran his hand along Messmer’s side as if he were an anatomical display corpse or meat strung up to be groped and examined for quality. His skin was white and luminous in the candlelight.
“I can’t say I understand the nature of your fixation, truly, but as a matter of good and cultured taste…”
He tapped Messmer’s gut, low enough that it would usually draw a sensitive sound from him. Messmer did not respond. He seemed occupied with his nectar and drinking himself fatter, lips glistening in translucent gold.
“If there ever was a being worthy of being called a demigod - truly, what an incredible creature.”
He squeezed that area of belly until Messmer finally moaned loudly, and the mage seemed heartened. He stroked the spot further like one might pet a dog’s stomach.
“Yes, yes, you can wake up now. We’ve brought your lover for you.” The mage spared Gaius a sideways glance. “Lovely, isn’t he? It is difficult to keep his stomach so clean and well-tended.”
These caretakers seemed more like a cabal of perverts than true noble doctors. The mage was completely taken with the gorgeous ocean-spread of soft white fat in front of him. Did Messmer’s strange charm affect them, too?
“Get his leg, will you?” asked a different mage. “It’s nearly heavy as a cow.”
One of the underling mages was already latching a chain to the ceiling for it to hang from. A different group worked to pull back the wide gut which otherwise concealed Messmer’s lower half like a dense fur robe.
Messmer’s legs were forced wide and opulent by shape alone without needing to be pulled that way and his thighs were too large to straddle. The knees were softened and distorted, and the ankles were overgrown with wayward flesh, looking too weak to hold anyone, much less someone as large as he was.
Gaius took the demigod’s foot into his hand, and compared to the dense rolls of fat that softened the leg to uselessness, it seemed dainty or even elegant. He pulled, and with less grace than he would have liked, was able to lift it towards the chains, where a mage latched a cuff around it.
Seeing it hanging there so spectacularly, Gaius thought again of butcher shops and cuts of meat marbled richly with fat.
“Good, good. The other one, then,” said a mage.
Gaius obeyed. It was only once he had finished that he realized what he had done - with Messmer’s hips forced upwards, his stomach rolls gathered tighter, rounding his silhouette even higher. The entire jiggling expanse fell back off the slope of his legs.
On a thinner man, it would have been an extremely implicative position. On Messmer, there was a plump ass too swollen full with flesh to reveal any lewder details, a sweat-adorned lower belly and beneath that, another enormous swell of fat encasing where his cock should be.
A lovely and transfixing sight, only a few inches from Gaius’s fingers.
“What are we doing to him?” Gaius said, taking a step backwards. He did not need to be seeing this while surrounded by other people.
“Nothing untoward - but it does take creative solutions to clean him, now that he’s gotten so large,” said the mage from earlier. Gaius assumed he was the leader by how talkative he seemed. He had walked around the odd stone bed to stroke Messmer’s hair. “And the poor thing gets so shy about it that he prefers to be full of his sedating nectar for the experience.” He pinched Messmer’s fat cheek and there was barely a response. His eye was closed, and his cheeks practically fluoresced against the rest of his pale, clammy skin.
“You seem fond of this, hm?” the mage said, touching lower on the swell of Messmer’s stomach. “Well it’s a boon to Marika as well. No little snake-filled children with claims to the throne running around, hm?” He tugged a little, and Messmer let out a muffled moan. “Quiet, quiet…”
He looked delightful. His guardian serpents lounged proudly among the luxurious expanse of his stomach.
“Do we have to keep him like this?” Gaius asked. “It seems uncomfortable.”
“Not at all - he can barely feel a thing. The chains are essential because they keep him still if he catches a bad vision from the nectars – he can be dreadfully strong when he’s trying to fight, even under all that weight. And he won’t be moving while we’re trying to clean him, or god forbid, rolling himself off the table. Even the entire group of us wouldn’t be enough to lift him from the floor.”
Gaius stared dubiously. The mage continued massaging the high arch of Messmer’s belly.
“We should take measurements,” offered a lower-ranking mage under his breath. “He’s been growing so quickly. We need to make sure it hasn’t been out of proportion.”
The head-mage grinned.
“We should - it’s hard to tell at this point what proportional means by sight alone.”
He turned to Gaius.
“You would not believe what’s inside of him - we cut him open once for surgery when he was a tiny thing, and the sight was so terrible some of our men fainted.”
The ambience in the room was so macabre that it was easy to believe they meant to cut him open again. Gaius’s blood felt icy and thick.
“But the serpents inside of him seem to be contained for a time, at least.” He squeezed a handful of flesh and Messmer moaned again. “We’re supposed to keep watch over any swelling, but this is all just fat. The poor glutton certainly does not make our job any easier.”
“Do you want me to help measure him?” Gaius asked, feeling awkward.
“Why don’t you help lotion him? That should be enjoyable, you frisky thing. Shedding season is coming up, and it’s nice to have his skin softened for it.”
“Shedding season? Like a snake?” Gaius said.
He did not seem that monstrous. Other than the occasional rare, jewel-like scale in red that would dot him like a mole, his skin was smooth and unarmored. But it did in some lights, have an inhuman look to it, perhaps one comparable to Gaius’s own.
“When he was a skinny thing, he could wriggle out of it, all in one piece. Now, bits of it tend to get stuck in his folds.” He lifted one of Messmer’s breasts to demonstrate. “If it’s rough and dry, it tends to irritate things.”
“Yes,” Gaius said, breathily. “That sounds important.”
He was handed a large bottle of pale cream that smelled faintly of flowers. It was so dense that it was nearly solid and it seemed as though it would be uncomfortable to spread, but as soon as it touched Messmer’s hot flesh, it practically melted into him.
He began with Messmer’s arms, tracing each roll carefully, working the cream into supple, sagging flesh. The mages began at the other side of him with their notebooks and measuring tape and callipers. Messmer’s forearms were one of the rare parts of his body not yet completely overtaken by fat, but the upper arms swelled wide like great cushioned muttonchop sleeves, rolling lazily over his elbows. Once an intimidating part of his anatomy, they had softened into something enticing, pleasant, and rather harmless.
Gaius worked lotion into the clumsy roll weighing Messmer’s arms to frailty and then pushed a flat hand into the damp and tender crease of his armpit, which was present even with arms raised. And then, there were his breasts. The tension in his arms pulled his nipples out of their hiding places to rest sweetly upon the gentle mountains of fat that sloped downwards to flank Messmer’s ribcage. They cut proud, handsome arcs in the air and wobbled gently when touched. Gaius realized awkwardly that to reach even half of Messmer’s torso, he would have to bend his entire body over it.
Messmer would frequently remark upon the iron coldness of Gaius’s skin, and though it was natural for his kind, he would warm him very insistently. The vast warmth beneath him was like a soothing bath for his brain. His limbs seemed to be melting. A serpent disturbed by his jostling opened its bleary eyes and flicked its tongue at him. What a lovely life it had, nuzzling its way into all that fat and sleeping upon his stomach!
He moved down further into the unfathomable expanse of Messmer’s stomach which beckoned him like drug and weakened his knees. His hands treated flesh that was as soft as butter as his belly and clothed cock pressed into the furnace-like flesh, pliant, supple form accepting the blossoming shape with ease. He lost track of what he was doing, rubbing the same part of him over and over, as if he could grasp the whole of him into his arms.
The master mage dragged him away into the cold air as if he were grabbing a kitten by the scruff of the neck, and Gaius stood limp for a while trying to regain his wits.
“Try to be efficient,” the master mage murmured. “When we’re done, you can have him to yourself.”
But then, he looked down and saw Gaius’s obvious arousal, and with amusement, he arranged to have another mage come and take over lotioning duty.
“Cool off, cool off, now,” he said with a hand clapped down on Gaius’s shoulder.
Now that he was not in contact with such tantalizing skin, he could actually observe the measuring process. The demigod was far too fat for the calipers to be used on anything except the furthest reaches of his limbs, and so for his stomach, they could only stretch measuring tape from hip crease to hip crease, well above his low-hanging belly button.
“How do you know you’re taking that in the same place as last time?” asked Gaius. Any indication of hipbone or ribcage was well-buried.
“We use rolls as landmarks,” the head-mage said, grasping one to demonstrate. “He grows new ones for us all the time. This was not so deep a few weeks ago, was it, you hog-prince? It’s easy to lose track of them if we are not prompt in our measurements.”
“How are his measurements?” asked Gaius.
“Oh, they’re grand. They’re spectacular, really! But you could tell that just by looking at him.”
“I meant with regards to his curse. Is he alright? Do they suggest anything?”
“Just that we’re overfeeding him.” Another squeeze of Messmer’s belly. “He’s been stable for months now. We haven’t needed to employ any of our crueler methods, and we couldn’t otherwise, because Marika has forbidden them. Come - see for yourself. Help me lift this.”
He motioned to the sloppy, lowest roll of Messmer’s stomach, which was so wide that it poured off the side of the stony bed like an avalanche of flesh. The mage whistled, and gave it a wobble.
“It’s something isn’t it? In all my years tending to freak medical cases and unholy creatures, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Gaius struggled to lift his generous portion, hands dipping in as if it were an impossibly heavy feather comforter. The master mage laughed.
“See? Nothing evil here, at least. It’s all regular flesh.”
The other mages turned their attention from their scrawled notes and came to assist, and together, they were able to suspend it a few feet from the stone surface.
The master mage secured a chained hook from the ceiling into the thick flesh and Gaius stumbled a step backwards, bewildered. This was a torture chamber! It was only the delicate nature of the mage’s handiwork that prevented Gaius from smacking him to the floor.
“What in the Erdtree’s name are you doing?” he said roughly.
The mage waved him off with a white-gloved hand.
“It’ll take,” he said. “We spread the hooks well and evenly. We’ve done the force calculations. He can barely feel a thing.”
“Surely, there is a method of doing this that is not so violent.”
“None of us have enough arm strength to maintain this for the time necessary for us to check his underbelly. We’ll bandage him up nicely afterwards and aid the healing along with a salve. Do you want to turn this into a diving expedition?”
Truly? It sounded like heaven to be buried under all that smothering, humid fat.
He would work on his magic, he decided, so that this would be less necessary in the future. At the moment, Gaius could manage to hold his own body relatively upright when his legs grew very weak.
The underside of Messmer’s belly was so pale it seemed nearly translucent, sticky with sweat and lovely. Gaius ran a comforting hand along its dimpled crest, hoping that beneath Messmer’s hallucinogenic haze, he could sense his gentle intentions.
“Why don’t you measure this part,” came a hot voice at Gaius’s ear. There was a heavy arm on top of his shoulders, and before he knew it, he was pressed forward, towards the enormous fat pad sprawling wide over Messmer’s legs that now lay shameful and free to the elements. A piece of measuring tape was pressed into his fingers, and his hand accepted it before his mind could make sense of it.
He knew that he would be kinder than anyone else here with the most humiliating and sensitive parts of Messmer. He nudged his clumsy fist into the unassuming hole, made of firmer, springier flesh than the sagging fat that surrounded it, and it easily engulfed Gaius’s fingers. He was absolutely transfixed. He could work his forearm in deeper and deeper.
Messmer whimpered and tried to buck his hips; encumbered as they were, he mostly succeeded in sloshing fat around. But it was still a large enough motion to get the hooks in his belly to swing.
“No,” Gaius said, firmly. “No, you’re going to hurt yourself - somebody! Hold his hips down.”
The mages tried to, at least. As if anyone could find a hipbone under this fleshy mess!
“I’ll calm him down, I’ll calm him down,” said the master magus. He walked around to Messmer’s head, and stroked his hair and the rolls under his chin as if he were stroking a cat. “Do finish quick. He’s almost done with his meal, and he’ll start to come back to his senses. Don’t be shy about things; he’s bigger than you expect him to be. Make sure you get all the way to the base.”
Gaius made his way slowly through that warm, wet cavern, the nerves in his silver skin alight. He had to bend over at an odd angle to get his arm in this far, and his legs felt like gelatin. Finally, finally, he felt a firmer press of blood-hot flesh, leaking. If only he did not have to hold the measuring tape, he could pleasure Messmer for real! As it was, he tried at least to be polite about things, nudging past the insistent shape of Messmer’s swollen and terribly neglected cock. Messmer moaned regardless, full and deep in his chest, and his breaths were ragged. Gaius could feel the tide of them flooding and receding even here. Hard knuckles and the scrape of his measuring implement brushed against Messmer; there was not enough space for all of them.
“Hurry up now. What’s the measurement?” The hand on Gaius’s shoulder grew insistent with its tapping.
Messmer’s faint, needy movements grew gentler. His hips and belly lay slack. He spat out air in what almost sounded like a hiss, and Gaius’s hand was then hot, and sticky, and wet.
Mortified, Gaius pulled out the tape, needing to brace himself on the table so that he would not fall to the floor. Nearly two entire feet. He felt lightheaded.
The implement was filthy, but a gloved mage took it gladly, laughing a low laugh.
“Yes,” he said. “That does tend to happen. Poor beast!”
“Clean him up,” said the head mage. “Then, we’ll get him taken down.”
Had they already finished cleaning the other parts of his underbelly? Gaius supposed there were a lot of men working at it.
“Leave it up! Leave it up, damn you,” came Messmer’s quiet voice, slightly slurred.
“Messmer,” Gaius said, quickly maneuvering around the table to see his face. Hair clung to his forehead and his lips and chins were sticky, but there was, at least, a bleary trace of a smile.
“Are you sure, Lord? You’re not exactly built for stamina. Look at you, panting like a dog,” said the master mage.
“Get out,” Messmer said. “All of you. I will see you in an hour when I’m done with him.” His voice was already clearing from it’s foggy undertones, and even quiet as he was, he struck the room dead silent.
The master mage moved first, and smacked Gaius on the back as he swept past.
“Make him work for it, a little. The exercise might be good for him.”
The other mages were not so bold, and they darted after him like little fish. The room was cleared quickly, and then it was just Gaius and Messmer in the dim quiet.
“Well then,” said Messmer. “You’ve seen the entire sorry state of things.”
“You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” said Gaius, completely undeterred.
“Get my hands,” said Messmer, preening.
Gaius freed them from the cuffs, and Messmer practically pounced upon him, dragging claws down over the back of his head and neck and pulling him down so that they were face to face.
“Look at me,” Messmer said. “You are going to do that again now, properly, and then perhaps, a few times afterward. You know that I am no man of normal appetites. And then-” He trailed a clawed hand down Gaius’s pathetically clothed chest, stopping right before the jut of his very obvious erection. “I will see about tending to you.”
Gaius’s body had no idea if it should press towards or away from those claws, and so he stood still with his heart pounding, like a mouse.
“Does it hurt you, staying like this unsedated?”
Messmer smacked his fleshy stomach in frustration, sending the chains rattling.
“Compared to the longing with no recourse? Every single day during my exercises…”
He trailed off, but Gaius could imagine what that frantic, slapping array of flesh would do to his poor buried dick.
“I’ll take good care of you,” he breathed. “Whenever you need it.”
He went down to Messmer’s lower half and trailed a light, deliberate hand across his fat pad. Then, on a whim, he lifted the entire heavy thing. Even with Messmer’s legs spread and raised like this, his dimpled shelf of an ass was far too thick to reveal any of its secrets, but if Gaius pressed a flat hand into its crevice, he could reach the tight ring of muscle. It would not be an easy matter, but it might not be impossible.
Messmer sputtered and nearly choked.
“What are you doing?” came his voice.
“I was curious,” Gaius murmured. “It’s not usually so easy to reach this.”
He had never even touched it before. Reluctantly, he pulled back his hand, but Messmer groaned in frustration.
“Don’t you dare,” Messmer said breathily. “I want the whole of you. Do something, damn you.”
Gaius took his pants off and gently slipped them to the floor. The slight shuffle they made in hitting the cobblestones felt impossibly loud in this dark, wide-open space. Gaius thought, perhaps, that he should prepare Messmer with a finger or two before beginning. It seemed unlikely he had experience. But then, seeing his hips already canting, and his messy, frantic breaths, he reconsidered. With all the flesh in the way, he would not be able to fit more than the tip in.
He slipped himself between the two fleshy cheeks, which were as rich and lovely as the fat anywhere else on him. Gaius expected there to be much more resistance with muscle, but Messmer accepted him greedily, fighting against the colossal weight of his body to be fucked deeper, harder, and with more energy.
He was nearly forced inside. Gaius let out a pleasant gasp. The entire enormous form in front of him was rocking and wobbling against its restraints. Even with the heaviest part of him suspended, the ruined thing could barely move; he whined and panted between each thrust, growing short of breath already.
“Easy, easy,” Gaius said, petting the crest of his stomach fat.
Messmer breathed out a frustrated sigh, and tried to rock his hips again. Gaius responded with a thrust that rattled his chains and sent a tidal wave of flesh rippling across his wide form.
Oh, this was a nice view. Gaius wanted to see that morbid god quaking more like a plate of gelatin.
More out of an obsession with its texture, shape and contents rather than any deliberate thought, he pulled Messmer’s fat pad to himself, kneading it like dough, and Messmer practically cried out in frustration. He could crush it gently against his own broad torso, and if he bent his neck down, he could kiss the tip of it.
Even without his buried cock being touched, Messmer was affected - his whining, panting, feverish breaths became muffled, as if he had latched onto something.
Gaius thrust into him and the chains rattled. Messmer moaned, muffled by whatever he had gotten his mouth onto, so hard it sounded like sobbing.
His springy flesh was pliant and tasted faintly of salt. It was kept against Gaius’s chest, white hot and still, as the rest of Messmer became an orchestra of slapping flesh. It was leaking again, he realized with some amazement, as Messmer’s clumsy thrusts grew weaker. Gaius’s entire chest felt wonderfully filthy.
“Keep going,” Messmer managed, weakly. “Don’t slow down.”
He wouldn’t have anyway. Being within cock’s reach of Messmer’s stomach had him acting on pure instinct.
“Oh, you are a lusty thing, aren’t you,” Gaius breathed. Whether it was serpent’s curse or something else, he was quite well suited towards reproduction.
So painful had the evening been, touching Messmer’s flesh without fulfillment, and so delightful was the current sight that Gaius could feel himself creeping towards his own orgasm.
When he finally spilled, he practically melted into Messmer’s fat body as his knees weakened.
He made a rather halfhearted attempt to fish a thick hand into Messmer’s already ruined fat pad, feeling blushing shame at having barely even touched the poor thing’s dick. But he barely even needed to touch it - at even the faintest contact, there was another sudden spurt of sticky liquid, enough to coat his arm.
Gaius laughed and pulled away and wobbled on his weak feet. He was filthy - his chest, his arm, even his face.
“Oh, you do cause problems for those poor mages, don’t you?” he said. “You little virgin god of fertility.”
Wanting to see Messmer’s face, he moved around to the other side of him. Messmer, panting and exhausted, was still biting his own pillow-soft breast, which was hitched up with one hand. The other worked his lower fat into a clawed massage. He released his jaws slowly, and then looked at Gaius. He seemed very satisfied at the sight of him dirtied with his own seed.
“It serves you right, haunting my dreams as you do,” said Messmer. “Come here - I should mark you properly.”
Messmer bit Gaius behind his ear with even less restraint than usual. If there was any humiliation in Messmer’s predicament, Gaius, dripping wet, bruised and now bloody, felt it tenfold. Messmer pulled away languidly, and then rested so that he was forehead to forehead with Gaius. They stayed beside each other for a while in privacy, sharing in the heat of their exertion and panting breaths.