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A Line of Soft Princes - Ch. 12 - Pursue What Delights You
🕑 Added 2022-01-31 19:17:42 +0000 UTCIt was a few days before Bartem saw Astor again. His mind buzzed during all that time. He was anxious to see his former lover, and a little nervous about what Astor might think of him now that he’d quite gone to pot. He remembered the few times Astor had fantasized aloud about how handsome he would be if he filled out, but it was one thing to fantasize and another thing to see those fantasies materialize in the flesh.
He also couldn’t deny that the glimpses he’d gotten of Astor’s newly padded form when he was presented were enticing in the extreme. It was something he’d never really thought he would get to see. One could only get so plump on peasant food and peaches. But it looked as if, in a very short time, Astor’s palate had gotten the chance to broaden considerably–right alongside his hips.
Bartem wondered if Astor would even still be interested in him. If any male consort before him had pursued anyone on the side (and he was certain at least a few had), it was a very well-kept secret. Anyone hoping to be raised up in court by romancing him would be disappointed. It would make far more sense for Astor to pursue a woman of wealth and title that he could actually marry, or a man whose affections were less likely to be meticulously surveilled and who could thus be more public in his attentions.
There was also the matter of making sure his wife would not object. He had pursued his previous dalliance at the Driesens’ party with Evie’s permission, and hoped how wife’s permissiveness extended beyond that clandestine gathering. He had interests beyond his wife and appetites she could not satisfy, but he was not interested in crossing any boundaries she set.
One evening, as they lay in bed together, Bartem finally broached the subject. “Dear girl,” he said, squeezing her close as she snuggled into the crook of his shoulder. “I have a delicate question for you. Or perhaps a request.” The words came out clumsily. He was more flustered than he wanted to be.
“Ooh, this sounds interesting.” He could hear the smile in her voice, which soothed him. “Ask your question, husband.” She planted a kiss on his throat, and for a moment he considered derailing the conversation and spending the next few hours seeing to his wife. Why have a difficult conversation that could go terribly in a dozen different ways when he could invite her to straddle his stomach and find her pleasure as he stroked his own cock and watched her bounce?
But he knew it was better to have it out and be done with it, no matter the outcome. “I… have an interest in someone.” He took a deep breath. He had never explicitly told Evie he liked men and women both. “A young man here at court.”
Evie was quiet for a beat, just long enough for Bartem to clench his jaw while he tried not to squirm. “That was a statement, not a question, Bartem,” she said lightly.
Bartem rubbed a hand across his face. “I’m having trouble…” He cleared his throat. “I want to know if you would have any objections if I–pursued him. Or anyone else.”
“Ah. I thought we had already sorted this out when we went to that party? But no matter. No, I have no objections.” She sat up and propped herself up on her elbow so she was looking down at him. “I know I don’t need to tell you to be circumspect about it. You know what you’re doing. Pursue what delights you at your leisure.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead.
His heart ached for a moment and he reached up to touch her face. He could feel her dark eyes scanning him as she traced the planes of his face with a fingertip. He felt very lucky. He hadn’t been eager to marry, and even less eager to be wedded to someone important. But Ginevra–his princess–kept surprising him. He didn’t doubt that she wanted him to feel happy and whole, with or without her. They had only been married a few months and it was all still new. In that moment, lying in the dark with her, he felt his affection for her coalesce into something deeper and more permanent. “I love you,” he whispered, and he meant it.
Even in the darkness, he could see her beaming. “I love you, too.”
***
When he finally wound up at the same event as Astor–a salon put on by a marchioness with a penchant for philosophy–he felt much more confident in his pursuit knowing he had Evie’s blessing. He also had some new clothes that actually fit, which helped him feel more like himself.
The seating at the salon was set up in a U shape, so everyone could see and listen to the speakers pontificating at the front of the room. Astor sat toward the back, on his own. He was listening, but he looked dreadfully bored. Bartem sat down beside him, and Astor immediately brightened. “Bartem!” he exclaimed quietly. “I didn’t realize you would be here. I never took you for a philosopher.”
Bartem laughed a little. “I’m not, but I try to make the rounds at as many engagements as I can. Have to play the game at court and all that.” He took a closer look at his old friend. Astor had clearly taken to nobility well. His clothes were fine, with billowy pants that exaggerated the rolling swell of his hips and backside, lace cutouts allowing the barest peek at his thighs. The shirt he wore had thin straps over the shoulders, showcasing his thickened arms and plush neck and shoulders. The top was purposefully cut short, sitting just below his waist, allowing a juicy roll of pale belly to push out like rising dough. An upper belly roll pressed against the fabric, bowing it outward slightly. Altogether, he looked rounder than he ever had, like a freshly baked cream puff just before it was pumped full of filling.
They exchanged pleasantries for a few more moments, then both pretended they were listening to the speaker. Anticipation built up between them. It didn’t take more than a few minutes before Bartem leaned toward Astor and asked if he would like some fresh air. Astor smirked and nodded.
They were casual as they walked to Bartem’s quarters, stopping occasionally so Astor could try the morsels that lined the halls along the way. Watching him eat set the young prince aflame, his mouth watering as he watched Astor lick powdered sugar off his plump fingertips. It seemed like they were slowing down more and more the closer they got to his rooms. Astor flashed a coquettish grin at him and he realized that was on purpose. Bartem wanted desperately to kiss him right there. He cooled his heels by joining Astor’s taste-testing. This, of course, only made things take even longer, but there was something about eating together that felt exciting.
Once in his rooms, Astor looked around with a low whistle. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’ve certainly moved up in the world,” he said, a hand resting on his middle.
“Looking at how round you’ve become, clearly the same could be said for you.” Bartem’s voice was low, his eyes half-lidded with lust. He could already feel himself getting hard, and when Astor grabbed handfuls of his own belly by way of showing off, Bartem let out a small groan. He rushed toward his old companion and pulled him in for a ravenous kiss, teeth clashing as they came together again after long months apart. Their hands roved over each other, Astor eagerly exploring all of Bartem’s extra heft even as Bartem did the same to him.
It wasn’t long before they fell into Bartem’s enormous canopied bed. Bartem considered drawing the curtains around the bed, but he loved the way the light from the big windows in the room played across Astor’s peach-toned skin and the dark red stretch marks beginning to trace across it. (He might have stretch marks, too, if he didn’t have servants lathering him with perfumed oils after every bath.) Seeing Astor without clothes, sprawled out on soft silk–that belly, so much softer than before, two distinct rolls beginning to form; that plump, heavily curved backside, just waiting to be claimed… All of that made it difficult for Bartem to control himself.
So he didn’t. He knew Astor, knew what he liked, and hearing him squeal and moan as Bartem filled him up was deliciously familiar and novel all at once. He felt Astor’s legs wrap around him as he grabbed at his belly, reveling in the sensation of it bouncing as they fucked. How much bigger has he gotten? Fuck, he’s got to be at least thirty pounds heavier, maybe more. (Bartem chose not to reflect on the fact that he’d likely gained more than double that, with no sign of slowing down.) He thought about how much prettier Astor would be with another thirty pounds of belly on him, about the constellation of stretch marks on his stomach going from dark red to silver and back again.
When they’d both finished and cleaned themselves up a little, Bartem called for a servant to bring in a meal–or, to be more accurate, a feast for two. Once it arrived, both young men lounged in Bartem’s rooms, catching up and enjoying the food. Though neither said anything about it, both paid rapt attention to how much the other was eating and entertained visions of how much fatter the other would be soon enough.
