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Lae’zel is staring at them across the firepit again.
This is not, on its face, altogether too unusual; Karlach would be the first to admit that she and Tav have made something of a spectacle of themselves (or, more accurately, that Tav has made a spectacle of her). Those altered scrolls have left her undeniably plump, and Tav seems singularly determined to keep her as round and overfed as possible; offering random handfuls of forage as they come across it, raiding the supply bags for an extra piece of bread or two (or three, or six) between meals. She’s taken to feeding Karlach the last few morsels of dinner by hand, heedless of their audience—and while the scrutiny made Karlach squirm at first, compelled her to try to suck in the gut sitting ever-heavier in her lap between bites, she’s somehow come to crave the attention, the wicked sting of mortification it elicits. Thighs squeezing together in anticipation when Tav settles in beside her, finesses Karlach’s plate from her hands. Swallowing a moan alongside a mouthful of greasy sausage when Tav rests one cool palm upon the crest of her belly and rubs slow, soothing circles into it, reaches beneath it to unlace her trousers, unbuckle her belt, release a bit of pressure.
Room for just a little more? Tav would ask, sweetly, while Wyll and Shadowheart gawked at Karlach from their tents, watching heat-haze shimmer across her visibly straining stomach. And Karlach would huff and groan and stifle a belch against the side of her fist, but she would always, always end up acquiescing, always end up too glutted to haul herself upright and shuffle towards their tent. Pinned beneath the weight of her greed, unable to do much besides pant and burp and let Tav try to ease her discomfort, kneading into the increasingly doughy pooch of Karlach’s underbelly with her knuckles, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the rise of her shoulder, the soft V of flesh under her chin.
Lae’zel had been vocal, at first, about her disdain for these displays; that their supplies should last longer than they do, that the constant overindulgence will leave Karlach slow and ineffectual, and burden the party. That Tav was allowing her basest urges to drive her decisions, behaving like a mindless, rutting beast. Shameful. Disgraceful. These protestations are coming more rarely now that Karlach is fat enough that her belly sprawls into her lap when she sits, though; mostly Lae’zel sits and watches them, long after the others have found some excuse to retire to their tents. Eyes locked on the forward thrust of Karlach’s stomach as she eats, on her upper arms (still strong, but rapidly losing definition), on the way the leather of her favorite trousers is beginning to wear away beneath the constant chafing of her tree-bole thighs. Expression pinched and hard, arms folded against her chest.
Tonight is no different; Lae’zel’s gaze is hovering somewhere between Karlach’s tits and belly as Tav idly kneads the overhang, molding herself against Karlach’s side. Karlach leans back a little to let the taut, gurgling swell of her gut rest a little more firmly between her splayed thighs, the occasional quiet grunt or hiccup escaping her. She’s wearing one of Tav’s button-down shirts tonight, in deference to their companions’ awkwardness, since she hasn’t much casual wear of her own; the smaller tiefling would be drowning in it, certainly, but it’s godawfully tight on Karlach. Seams creaking with every breath, just off the edge of hearing, the fabric gaping a little around the widest part of her, just above her navel.
Tav slips a finger into that gap, idly caressing the hot, scarred skin beneath, and Lae’zel clears her throat. Karlach is content to ignore her, for the moment, but then she feels a twitch behind her eye, an echo of Tav’s voice in the back of her mind, warped and reedy: I think she wants to get her hands on you, too.
What? No. She’s been tearing a strip off the both of us every chance she gets since this all started. Karlach tries to keep the corner of her mouth from quirking bemusedly, and half-succeeds, conscious of Lae’zel’s gaze.
She can’t take her eyes off of you. Tav huffs softly, nestling her head against Karlach’s shoulder. She doesn’t want to want it, that’s all. Look, I can prove it. She splays her hand over the crest of Karlach’s belly. Take a deep breath. Pop that button.
Solider, Karlach thinks, half-intrigued, half-reprimanding, but it’s just the three of them out here, now, and that’s a little less objectionable. She hesitates for a long few moments before leaning back, eyes lidded, and sucking in a breath. Her belly expands outwards, just a little—and that stubborn button finally yields with a soft snap of thread, exposing a wide crescent of turgid red flesh. Karlach melts back into her seat a little, sighing softly.
Lae’zel leans towards the pair, pupils dilating, ridged ears angled forward and flushed at the tips, lips parting. Before she can make a single cutting remark, though, another button pops free with a tiny ping, another, scattering in the dirt—Karlach’s gut seeking to make more room for itself now that it is slightly less constrained. The ragged edges of the fabric are framing the deep gash of her navel, now, the crease where her belly is beginning to fold. Karlach stiffens immediately, tail-tip twitching, caught between relief and embarrassment, and Lae’zel slowly closes her mouth, expression inscrutable. Hauls herself to her feet to stalk back to her tent in abject silence.
Tav glances up once she’s sure that Lae’zel’s passed out of earshot, brows raised, neck flushed. “See?”
“Well.” Karlach shifts in place, digging one restless heel into the earth. Can’t say that the feeling of literally exploding out of her clothes has left her entirely unaffected. “I should…probably go and see if she’s all right?”
“You could do that,” Tav replies, gently thumping the side of Karlach’s belly and eliciting a faintly disgruntled burp. “Or, and bear with me here—you could go ask her if she wants to ride this gorgeous thing. Get it out of her system.”
Karlach cuffs Tav’s shoulder with a gentle hand, ignoring the way her upper arm wobbles with the motion. “Be serious!”
“I am. We both like her well enough, right? And she’s clearly determined to torture herself over liking the new you.” Tav’s shoulders rise in the briefest semblance of a shrug, nose scrunching. “You can’t say you’ve never considered it.”
(Karlach would be lying if she said she hadn’t; she’s admired Lae’zel’s directness, her fierce loyalty, her unyielding resolve, from the first. Not bad to look at, either; she’s got surprisingly soft eyes when her face isn’t all scrunched up in a half-snarl, and her hands are fine-boned and strong, with long, dexterous fingers. There’s a little pang of jealousy, somewhere down deep, and of shame, for the knowledge that Tav’s eye has been wandering, that she’s noticed Karlach’s doing the same…but also a kind of depraved exhilaration.)
“Hey,” Tav says, and Karlach starts, glancing down at her again. “There’s nothing wrong with inviting her to play, right? Doesn’t have to be anything more than that.” She leans up to press a kiss to the apple of Karlach’s cheek.
Karlach swallows, mouth suddenly bone-dry. Glutton before a feast. “You gonna get involved?”
“If you want. I can just be a very appreciative audience, if you’d prefer.”
Karlach makes a rough noise, low in her throat. There’s something about the notion of being watched, especially in this state—bloated up like a tick and panting after the slightest exertion—that makes her head swim. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”
Tav affords her a smile that’s just this side of devious, then, gives her gurgling gut one last loving rub. “Come on, then. Do you need help getting up?”
Karlach rocks forward experimentally, finds that her meal has settled enough that she can haul herself upright with a minimum of huffing and straining. Tav’s eyes are locked on her swaying, stuffed-solid belly all the while, the way the overhang slaps against her upper thighs, and the smaller tiefling rises with considerably more ease once Karlach has taken the first lumbering step towards the corner where Lae’zel has erected her tent.
The party has settled amid the ruins of an abandoned town, this night, and Lae’zel has elected to shelter in the burnt-out shell of what might have been a general store or common house, against two adjoining walls that are, by some miracle, still standing. A good defensive position against whatever lurks in the darkness beyond. She has her back turned to the firepit when Karlach approaches, knelt on a woven rug with her sword in her lap and an old, stained rag in her left hand, though one ear swivels to acknowledge the tiefling’s ponderous, heavy footfalls.
“Hey,” Karlach says, into the brittle silence. “Just, ah…wanted to make sure you’re all good. You ran off pretty quick, back there.”
Lae’zel makes a faintly disgruntled sound, and does not turn to face her. “Tsk’va. I did not ‘run off.’ I simply did not wish to watch you debase yourself further.”
“Y’know, somehow I don’t believe that.” Lae’zel does glance over her shoulder at that, eyes thinning, and the corner of Karlach’s mouth quirks. “You stuck around to watch me finish eating after everyone else had already scurried off to bed.”
“I did not think it wise to leave the camp unguarded,” Lae’zel replies, sharply. “Given how distracted the pair of you appeared to be.”
“Mmhm. That’s why your eyes were locked on my gut and not the treeline, yeah?” Lae’zel hisses, then, setting the sword and rag aside before rising and pivoting to face Karlach, teeth bared. Karlach squares her shoulders a little, still smiling gently—she’s more than bulky enough to absorb a blow or two if Lae’zel is incensed enough to take a swing at her—and notes that, yes, Lae’zel’s gaze has drifted down to Karlach’s swollen middle again, perhaps unconsciously. It’s not entirely bare yet—a couple of the buttons on the borrowed shirt are still clinging to life—but it’s not leaving too much to the imagination. Karlach raises a hand to caress a patch of exposed skin, grinning as Lae’zel’s breathing quickens, almost imperceptibly.
“Guess I can’t blame you for staring. Gods, I feel huge,” Karlach continues, voice low and smoky. Playing up the gluttony always seems to drive Tav wild, and it feels reasonable, in this moment, to assume that it will have the same effect on Lae’zel. “And so fuckin’ full I can hardly breathe. Maybe a good rub would take the edge off. Hard to get the right angle myself, though…”
Lae’zel hesitates, eyes darting between Karlach’s face and belly, posture hunched and defensive, before taking a small step forward. “We should all be prepared to defend the camp, should our enemies find us in the night,” she says, slowly. Karlach says nothing, merely watches with a faint smile as the smaller woman edges closer, one clawed hand hovering an inch or two above Karlach’s belly; perhaps marveling at the heat it exudes. “If Tav is unavailable, and this would unburden you…”
“Oh, definitely,” Karlach replies, and her breath hitches a little as Lae’zel’s palm finally makes contact with her belly. It’s a little cold, and rough with callus, and Lae’zel’s eyes widen a little before she brings her other hand up to cradle the underside of Karlach’s gut, as if measuring the (not insignificant) span between them. She presses into the gathered softness, testing the give of it, and Karlach lets out a tiny, encouraging moan. Lae’zel steps a little closer, gingerly rubbing at the top swell of Karlach’s belly, now, as if conscious of how thin the skin there appears to be stretched. Packed so full that she can barely feel any padding, just the hard glut beneath.
“Pressure’s good,” Karlach mumbles, eyes lidded. “C’mon. A little harder.” Lae’zel growls affirmation, hand pressing down more firmly, standing close enough now that her toned midriff is flush with the outermost swell of Karlach’s gut. That loosens a quiet belch, and Lae’zel pauses before moving both hands to either side of Karlach’s belly, pushing the fabric of the shirt open a little wider and digging all ten fingers in. Squeezing and stroking the tight flesh, giving it the occasional jostle just to watch the way all of Karlach seems to wobble faintly in response. These more confident ministrations are worsening the warm, urgent ache between Karlach’s thighs by degrees; she never feels more like a prize hog than when she’s being manhandled like this.
Lae’zel can tell that this is getting her going, Karlach knows—the other woman has gone rigid against her, nostrils flaring, pupils blown and lip curled back to expose that double row of needle-sharp fangs. Caught between desire and disgust, unable to bring herself to voice either.
Then, from a little to the left, and behind: “You should use your mouth. Drives her crazy.”
Lae’zel pivots on heel, seeming—startled, certainly, but not altogether too chagrined. Tav is standing there, of course, one shoulder leaned against a section of crumbling masonry, both brows raised. “Well, don’t stop on my account,” the smaller tiefling drawls, exchanging a wry smile with Karlach over Lae’zel’s head.
“…I expected outrage,” Lae’zel says, stiffly. Perhaps suspecting that they’re having a laugh at her expense. Perhaps expecting that Tav will lunge for her. “I am laying claim to that which you have marked.”
“Karlach’s her own person. That aside, we discussed it. I liked the idea. So did she.” Tav shrugs, the tip of her tail waggling as Lae’zel frowns. “And, clearly, you do too. You’re doing me a favor, really,” she adds, calculatedly nonchalant, preempting any irritated denial from Lae'zel. “She’s got a big appetite. I can hardly keep up.”
“Hold on, I’ve got a big appetite?” Karlach protests with a breathy laugh, though the sound tapers into a startled moan as Lae’zel turns to her again, grabbing a fistful of doughy overhang and giving it a reprimanding wobble.
Lae’zel spares Tav a brief glance, brow furrowed. “You intend to stay and observe?”
“If that’s amenable.” Tav tilts her chin up slightly, peering at Lae’zel through a screen of dark lashes, a languid smile playing at her lips.
Lae’zel remains contemplatively silent for a few moments before nodding, and turning her attention back to Karlach. She bends a little to press an open-mouthed kiss to the top of Karlach’s belly, teeth scraping the taut skin, just hard enough to sting. Karlach braces back against the wall with a groan, eyelids fluttering, and she swears that she can feel Lae’zel smirking as that warm, wet mouth follows the exaggerated curve of her gut.
Every few centimeters, a bruising little lovebite. And that’s good, but a little too slow for Karlach’s liking; so, she reaches up, daring much, and fists one big hand in Lae'zel's hair, yanking her head back. Lae’zel snarls, eyes wide, a hand flying up to grip Karlach’s wrist, but the fat tiefling is unmoved; she’s a little out of shape, sure, unaccustomed to her new size, but there’s still solid, steel-cable muscle under all that flab. Lae’zel tries to hook a foot around Karlach’s ankle, unbalance her, but there’s hard, unmoving stone behind her; nowhere to fall.
(Flipping the script like this is a risk, Karlach knows, but she’s slummed it with their companions for long enough to have taken their measure—and from what she’s observed, Lae’zel craves a firm hand at the reins. She’s not reluctant to take charge if no one else will, but deep down she wants to be led, wants the opportunity to relinquish control, if only temporarily. Wants the assurance that someone else has it all handled. Karlach is more than willing to provide that, if Lae’zel can relax enough to accept it.)
“What are you—release me, kainyank!” Lae’zel growls, taking a swipe at Karlach’s face with her free hand; Karlach leans back a little—really, the fact that her girth was forcing Lae’zel to stand at a distance to begin with is working to her advantage—then turns, half-dragging Lae’zel with her. With Lae’zel’s back to the adjoining wall, Karlach merely presses forward, pinning her between that hard-packed belly and the stone, one hand still tangled in that (surprisingly soft) auburn hair, the other catching Lae’zel’s flailing wrist, pulling her arm forward so sharply that she feels Lae’zel’s shoulder click in the socket. Lae’zel continues to struggle against her, of course, growling and cursing and gasping for breath, but Karlach merely leans a little further forward, implacable, holding her in place, smothering the githyanki with her superior weight. Tav makes a soft noise, but does not seem inclined to intervene.
Lae’zel is not, Karlach notes, making any serious effort to hurt her—though she does forcibly pull her head around to bite at the hanging flesh of Karlach’s arm, hard enough to leave a circle of pink teethmarks—so she seems to be taking this as it is meant. Eventually, she grinds to a halt, spent and panting, glaring up at Karlach through filmy eyes. Her furious writhing has torn another button from the bottom of Karlach’s shirt, allowing her belly to hang fully free, though the one keeping her breasts bound is still intact.
“You gonna behave?” Karlach asks, voice gentle and even, and Lae’zel growls wordlessly, a silvery thread of saliva unspooling from the corner of her mouth. Karlach takes a cautious step back, shoulders tense, half-expecting Lae’zel to lunge for her throat, send her sprawling into the dust, but—no. The smaller woman is still leaning against the wall, regarding Karlach just as warily. Good. “On your knees, then, pretty girl.”
Lae’zel scoffs, but she does, after a moment’s hesitation, kneel. She’s just about at eye-level with Karlach’s navel, now, and Karlach palms the back of her head again, more gently. “You wanted it,” the tiefling rumbles, engine thudding against her ribs just a little faster. “It’s all yours.”
A barely-perceptible shiver wracks Lae’zel, then, and she leans forward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of Karlach’s belly, first, tongue tracing the ridge of a fresh stretch-mark. Karlach releases a shuddery breath, free hand rising to fan over her mouth—eyes on Tav as the smaller tiefling shifts in place, spots of color blooming high in her cheeks, already cupping herself through her trews.
Lae’zel’s eager lips travel slowly upwards, sucking slow bruises into tender flesh; once, she raises a hand, to caress or jostle Karlach’s gut, and Karlach tightens the fingers in her hair, warningly, nails scraping her scalp. “Ah-ah. Hands in your lap. You touch when I say so.”
Lae’zel glares up at her, as if weighing the merits of attempting to wrest control back so soon, but she does, ultimately, acquiesce, bracing her palms against her thighs with an exasperated roll of the eyes before resuming her exploratory mouthing. She pauses as she reaches the slit of Karlach’s navel, head cocked, flushed to the base of her throat, considering—and then Karlach feels Lae’zels warm tongue flicker over it, into it. Has to dig her teeth into the knuckle of her thumb to stifle a startled yelp, jolting forward slightly. Lae’zel makes a soft, self-satisfied sound as Karlach’s belly bounces with the motion, and her tongue probes a little deeper, the tip of it curling, rolling. Gods, the sound of it is beyond obscene, slick and wanton, and Karlach feels phosphorous-hot and almost sick with need by the time Lae’zel is forced to pull away for breath, a long strand of spittle still connecting her lips to the crease of Karlach’s belly.
“Good girl,” Karlach murmurs, eyes darting towards Tav; the smaller tiefling has unlaced her trousers, and is lazily teasing her clit through her smallclothes, breaths coming in slow, syrupy gasps, eyes lidded. So distracted, Karlach almost doesn’t notice Lae’zel attempting to slip a hand between her own thighs—until the githyanki rises on her knees, hissing softly, chasing that fleeting friction.
“Hey,” Karlach barks, pulling Lae’zel a little further upright by her hair, nails digging into her scalp, eliciting a half-stifled moan; though, tellingly, Lae’zel does not withdraw her hand. “Gods, you’re a greedy thing. You want to get off that badly? Fine.” She yanks Lae’zel’s head forward, pushing her face deep into the give of Karlach’s churning belly, before shoving her away; already unbalanced, Lae’zel falls back onto her arse, grunting softly. “You can have Tav’s favorite seat.”
Tav makes a sharp, protesting noise, at that, and Karlach laughs, despite herself. “Come on, soldier. You said you wanted to share.”
Lae’zel divides a glance between them, eyes narrowed, uncomprehending—but she does remain seated, watching intently as Karlach slowly sinks down onto the woven rug, heavy gut heaving and settling between her thighs. Karlach takes a moment to rub both palms over it, loving the way that Lae’zel’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, perhaps unconsciously, the way those fine-boned hands slowly clench and unclench as she struggles to resist the urge to reach out and touch.
Slowly (that small, depraved part of her thrilling at the fact that even these simple motions are becoming more difficult, day by day), Karlach settles on her back, belly rising over her like a ripe red hill. Big enough now that she has to strain up a little to peer beyond it. She huffs out a breath, gives the side of it a solid thump. “Come on, then.”
Lae’zel rises, takes a step forward, exhaling shakily through her nose. Trying to project an air of confidence, and half-succeeding. “You will tell me if you are going to be ill,” she says, short and clipped, and Karlach chuckles, tipping her head back. Refuge in practicality.
Karlach hears the soft snap of a clasp being released, then, a brief wssk of leather against leather as, presumably, just out of sight, Lae’zel’s undergarments slide down her legs and pool on the ground. The githyanki swings one firm, muscular thigh over Karlach’s waist, and Karlach feels a shock of warmth and wetness as Lae’zel rocks her hips against the mound of Karlach’s belly experimentally. Tav makes a breathy, encouraging sound, and Lae’zel bucks into Karlach a little more ardently, grinding her swollen, throbbing clit into the firm flesh, knees digging into the spill of Karlach’s love handles. Back bowed forward, breasts hanging free, teeth bared, legs splaying just that little bit wider to accommodate the way Karlach’s belly swells against her with every heaving breath.
(Another fifty pounds and the crease of Karlach’s belly will likely be deep enough that one of them could take a strap-on to it, and oh, isn’t that a lovely image? Tav thrusting into the heavy folds from the side while Lae’zel kneels beneath, all that wobbling, pillowy flesh bearing down on her head while she laps at Karlach’s cunt, sinking her palms deep into those barrel-wide thighs in a futile effort to pry them even a few centimeters apart.)
Lae’zel’s thighs tense as she comes, gripping the sweat-dappled bulk of Karlach’s belly hard, and Karlach can’t do much besides growl and moan for the added pressure, arch her back to nudge the crest of her swollen gut into Lae’zel’s core as it flutters and pulses with the aftershocks. She wants to grab the back of Lae’zel’s neck and pull her down into a bruising kiss, but her upper arms are too plump to maneuver past the bulk of her belly, won’t sit flush no matter how hard she strains. Lae’zel peers down at her, panting, open-mouthed, sweat pearling along her forehead, the ridges of her collarbone. Expression open and vulnerable, however briefly, in the afterglow.
It’s Tav who breaks the spell; she’s breathing hard as she approaches, pupils blown, one hard hand landing between Lae’zel’s shoulderblades and shoving her unceremoniously forward, so that the githyanki’s slat-ribbed abdomen is pressed flat against the expanse of Karlach’s belly. Sinking into it, just a little, even with how fucking full Karlach is. “We’re not done,” Tav rasps, reaching to unclasp the last button on Karlach’s shirt with her other hand; heavy breasts striated with fresh stretch-marks tumble free, incandescent with the residual heat of the infernal engine and shuddering faintly with every gasping breath. “And neither are you.”
Lae’zel tilts her head up a little, locking eyes with Karlach, lip curled back slightly. Flicker of something indecipherable in her gaze—fear. Wonder. Hunger.
Slowly, deliberately, she she shifts forward, takes a dark, tight nipple into her mouth, drags her slick cunt across the curve of Karlach’s belly again. Tav’s hand moving to her hair, tugging, stroking.
Karlach inhales sharply, belly inching out, eyes fluttering shut. She has a feeling that they’ll all be grainy-eyed and bone-sore in the morning--and, somehow, she can’t quite bring herself to care.