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Kicking away the trousers piled at his feet, Vox swiftly retrieved pajama pants to pull over his nude legs.
Valentino was in bed already behind him, blissfully unaware of the discomfort Vox found himself in. He laid draped in an elegant robe, probably halfway to sleep.
With his pants securely on, Vox now tried to make quick work of his tops. That was where the real source of his shame would be on full display. He could feel his belly churning beneath his vest, an ominous reminder of his heedless gluttony. Catered desserts seemed too sweet of a deal to pass up in the moment, but now he regretted the sheer amount that he scarfed down. It sat heavy in his core, and he still tasted the sickly sweetness in the back of his throat.
He slipped his blazer off—not too bad—then tried to wrangle his vest over his head. This was the first challenging part. He could not suppress the little agitated grunts as he jostled his overfilled tummy in the process.
And more harrowingly yet, his belly, bulged and bloated as it was, was fully exposed. He hoped Valentino was on his phone or already asleep.
To his dismay, Vox heard the mattress shift.
Fuck.
He wrenched the vest off at last from sheer willpower alone, then frenetically snatched up his pajama top.
“Vox?”
Vox glanced briefly over his shoulder to see Valentino sat upright, antennae perked, blinking wide behind his glasses as though his eyes were deceiving him.
He panicked momentarily, hastily trying to pull the pajama shirt over his irritatingly cumbersome head. “What?” he huffed, snappier than he intended.
“Baby, why is your belly so…”
Vox stiffened with one arm through his sleeve. His chest tightened. “So what, Val.”
Val gestured down to his own belly, always preferring to communicate kinesthetically. “Well, baby, I’ve just never seen it so…” He knitted his brows in concentration, attempting to illustrate a rounded bump. “…bloated.”
Vox’s screen flickered, hot shame spiking up his neck. “Val, for what reason did you choose to humiliate me tonight?” He turned fully away, finally pulling the shirt over his frame. He yanked the hem of his pajama shirt down further than it would naturally fall in his current state, an ineffective effort to hide the bloat that the fabric embarrassingly rode up on.
“No— I didn’t mean—“ Val sputtered, crawling to the foot of the bed. He tucked in his knees and sat back on his heels, outreaching a hand to Vox’s shoulder. “I just don’t know why— ¿Cariño, are you okay?” He finally asked in earnest, any hints of teasing since dissipated. “Does it hurt?”
Vox’s mouth curled into a resigned scowl, but he didn’t pull away from the touch. He sighed dejectedly, turning around to face Val, his arms crossed protectively around his core. “No,” he muttered unconvincingly. “It’s probably just from the stupid food,” he uselessly defended, breeching the gap by joining him in bed.
Val followed him all the way back to the pillows, then perched upright next to him when Vox settled in. Val’s gaze dripped in warm concern, but playful intent danced behind it. “Come here.”
Vox groaned, pulling the comforter over himself like it would erase the evidence. “I’m fine, Val.” But he didn’t swat Val’s hand away when it found the curve of Vox’s stomach beneath the covers.
“You’re so tight, Voxxy,” he drawled as he began to rub soothing circles over the tension. Vox’s interface dimmed involuntarily, tension melting out of his tightly-strung frame despite himself.
“You’re being very dramatic about my gut, Val.” Vox aimed for frustration but it fell flat, relief betraying his voice.
“But you look so uncomfortable, cariño,” Val justified. He leaned in close to press a kiss to his swollen middle. His antennae tickled Vox’s neck, and he gently swatted them away.
“Val…” He flushed a vibrant cyan, draping his forearm over his eyes.
“What, baby? Let me fuss.” Valentino peppered his tummy with more kisses, each one uniquely catered to the different tight knots in his belly.
The pressure in his core shifted under the steady warmth and gentle coaxing. A quiet little gurgle vibrated under Val’s lips and palm, eliciting a giggle from him. “Is that a good rumble, Voxxy? Is it working?”
Vox wanted to avoid the question altogether, the indignity of discussing his digestive system almost too much to bare. Yet Val was being so attentive, so intentional, and truth be told—it did feel incredible. Little gurgles signified digestion, finally aided by Val’s gentle ministrations. It eased the mass of food, settling it in his tummy.
“Maybe a little better,” he conceded. It was a grotesque downplay, but at least he hadn’t denied it outright.
Valentino hummed knowingly, eyes creasing in a grin, as though he had derived all the hidden truth from that simple concession. “Told you,” he teased cheekily.
Val withdrew his hand for one fleeting moment—eliciting a damning frown from Vox—before placing his glasses on the bedside table, and laying down next to him. He faced Vox on the pillows, kissing his screen once before snaking all four of his hands beneath the covers to find his bloated middle.
“Fuck, Val,” he huffed breathily, leaning into the simulated heating pad. The tension melted out of him ever more with little relieved sighs.
“Just breathe, baby,” Val assured, voice thick with oncoming sleepiness. “I’ll keep your belly safe while you rest.”
Vox rolled his eyes, scoffing at the corniness. “You don’t need to do that,” he deflected bashfully.
Val continued to caress his tummy in small circles, hands working in tandem to soothe Vox and his tummy to rest.
Amid the peaceful silence, Vox’s drowsy whisper barely punctured the atmosphere. “Don’t ever tell anybody you saw me like this,” he muttered beneath his breath, almost imperceptible despite the quiet.
Val smiled affectionately, pressing into his belly gently. “It’s safe with me, Voxxy.”
Vox allowed himself to relax fully then, letting his eyes slip closed as the buddings of sleep crept on him.
“But you’re very cute when you’re round.” Valentino patted his tummy, eliciting a loud gurgle.
“VAL."