the beauty of your fat

I come back from checking on Allison (blood loss still a concern) to find you in the kitchen, preparing drinks. Looks like old fashioneds, but I see two bottles of bitters.

I come up behind you. You let out a deep and satisfied hmmmm as I slip my arms around your middle. My wingspan is huge but my fingertips barely touch unless I squish your belly. I squish it now.

The pressure spreads through delicate networks of fat and connective tissue till it feels like you’re wearing a light, comforting corset. Deep inside, your still-digesting dinner fights back against the hug, making you hyper aware of where your stomach squats beneath your ribs, contracting and dilating like a hollow digestive heart.

“You’re so big now, Rey.” My voice is so low as to be almost a whisper. “I can barely put my arms around you.”

You don’t reply straightaway. Just lean back into me, eyes closed. Full belly, warm bed, drinks and distractions and a brand new toy. Things don’t feel too bad this evening.

Eventually you return to your work. “Trying those new bitters. This one is— actually, try them both and see if you can tell.”

You pass the glasses over your shoulder and I let go of you with one arm to take them, sip and return.

“Hmm… The first is chocolate bitters; the second, grapefruit? First was more like vanilla. Second a bit more going on at the high end. Kinda like the latter.”

“Here, that can be yours.”

I take it with thanks and disengage with a squeeze. “You know, she thinks you’re just a vampire. As in, only take blood.”

“Mm.” You lead the way back to the couch, ice tinkling in your glass. “Won’t she be surprised. Honestly there aren’t that many calories in blood. How many victims would I need to have drunk dry to look like this?” The ’this’ is illustrated with a little pirouette that ends with you flopping onto the couch.

I settle by your legs and kiss your knee, or rather the slab of beautiful fat softening your quads above your knee. “Will you show her? Before you, y’know, show her?”

You sip your drink. The whisky you used was a little peaty, bringing a faintly medicinal quality. “You mean bring her hunting?”

“Well, remember when I picked you up after you ate that… couple? That was the first time I saw the aftermath.”

“Did I crush them against your dashboard?”

I smirk and nod. “Think you thought I might freak out.”

You giggle at the memory. “They felt good squirming. I hope you appreciated my sacrifice. … Do you think she’ll freak out?”

I shake my head side to side. “Yes,” I say, at length. “But then she’ll handle it. You saw how she flipped when you put the knife on her. She’s prey, down to her bones. Your prey.”

You stroke my hair. Pleased about what I’m saying? Or just contented? I don’t know, but I lean into it and close my eyes. I can hear how, after setting down the glass, your other hand idly explores your body, whispering over curving skin or digging into doughy flesh. Good. You’ve worked hard for it, and your prey have given everything. You should enjoy.

I should, too. I kiss your knee again then join you, my hand gliding up your thigh. You take the high road and I’ll take the low. Together we adore every inch of your body, giving you the attention you deserve. We bring the evening to a gentle conclusion through the beauty of your fat.